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METRICAL    PIECES, 


TRANSLATED   AND   ORIGINAL, 


BY 


N.    L.    FRO  THIN  GH  AM. 


BOSTON: 

CROSBY,    NICHOLS,    AND    COMPANY, 

111  TTashington  Street. 

18  5  5. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

Crosby,  Nichols,  and  Compant, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


CAMBRIDGE: 
METCALF  AXD  C05IPANT,  PRINTERS  TO  THE  UNITERSITT. 


mi 


FRIENDS     OF    MY    LIFE, 


ITS     LIGHTER     STUDIES. 


CONTENTS, 


TRANSLATIONS. 
FROM  THE  GREEK,  LATIN,  AND  ITALIAN. 


PAGE 


The  Phenomena,  or  Appearances  of  the  Stars.   (From 

the  Greek  of  Aratus.) 1 

The  Shade  of  Cornelia  to  Paulus.    (Propertius,  Book 

IV.  Elegy  XL) 65 

To-morrow.     (Martialis,  V.  58.) 75 

Manzoni's  "  Cinque  Maggio," 76 


FROM  THE  GERMAN. 

Goethe. 
Song  of  the  Parca?  in  "  Iphigenia,"  ....  83 

Stability  in  Change,         .        .  86 

a* 


VI  CONTEXTS. 

Schiller. 

The  Opening  of  the  New  Century,           ....  89 

Sioux  Death- Song, 92 

Cassandra, 95 

The  Festival  of  Eleusis, 102 

The  Flowers, 115 

A  Dithyramb, 117 

Sayings  of  Confucius, 119 

Herder. 

Ode  to  the  Hebrew  Prophets, 121 

RiJCKERT. 

The  Dying  Flower, 125 

Strung  Pearls, 130 

A  Gazelle, 143 

Quatrains,  in  the  Persian  Manner, 145 

Al-Sirat, 147 

The  Value  of  Years, 150 

Solomon  and  the  Sower, 153 

From  the  Youth-Time, 154 

The  Old  Man's  Song, 157 

The  Xourisher, 158 

A  Gazelle, 161 

Mother  Sun, 161 

Bethlehem  and  Golgotha, 168 


CONTEXTS.  VU 

The  Evening  Song,     .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .172 

Midnight, 175 

Sicilian, 177 

From  "  Love's  Spring," 178 

Five  Little  Stories, 181 

Uhland. 

King  Charles's  Voyage, 209 

Baron  von  Zedlitz. 

The  Night  Review, 214 

Count  von  Aueespero. 

The  Last  Poet, 219 

Men's  Tears, 223 


ORIGINAL    PIECES. 

Hymns. 

For  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  TVilliam  P.  Lunt,  at  New  York, 

June  19,  1828, 227 

For  the  Installation  of  Rev.  Y/illiam  P.  Lunt,  at  Quincy, 

Mass.,  June  3,  1835, 229 

For  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  Henry  W.  Bellows,  at  New  York, 

1839, 231 

For  the  Centennial  Celebration  of  the  Alumni  of  Harvard 

College,  August  23,  1842, 232 


VIU  CONTENTS. 

For  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  Eufus  Ellis,  at  Northampton, 
June  7,  1843, 234 

For  the  Dedication  of  the  New  House  of  "Worship  built  by 
the  Proprietors  of  the  Second  Church  in  Boston,  Sep- 
tember    7,  1845, 236 

For  the  Installation  of  Eev.  David  Fosdick,  as  Minister  of 
the  HoUis  Street  Society,  Boston,  March  3,  1846,    .        .    237 

For  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  O.  B.  Frothingham,  as  Minister 
of  the  North  Church  in  Salem,  March  10,  1847,       .        .    239 

For  the  Dedication  of  the  Church  of  the  Saviour,  Boston, 
November  10,  1847, 240 

For  the  Thirty-Second  Annual  Visitation  of  the  Divinity 
School  at  Cambridge,  July  14,  1848,        .        .        .        .242 

For  the  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  the  Boston  Female  Asylum, 
September  20,  1850, 244 

For  the  Installation  of  Rev.  Eufus  Ellis  as  Pastor  of  the 
FirstChurchof  Christ  in  Boston,  May  4,  1853,        .        .    246 

Communion  Hymn, 248 

Communion  Hymn, 250 

For  the  Dedication  of  a  Unitarian  Church,       .        .        .        251 

Fragments  and  Memories  from  the  Early  Time. 

Lines  written  in  the  Case  of  a  Watch,  the  Gift  of ,    .  254 

To  a  Sigh, 255 

The  Eenunciation, 256 


CONTENTS.  IX 

A  Summer  Evening, 258 

To ,  bereft  of  Reason, 260 

To , 263 

To  A.  G.  F. 

At  Sea, 267 

A  Sunset  in  Italy, 269 

To  A  Changing  Friend, 270 

Scattered. 

The  Burying-Ground  at  New  Haven,        ....  276 

In  an  Album, 278 

Shakespeare's  Mulberry-Tree, 280 

To  a  Lady,  who  complained  that  her  Heart  had  lost  its  Youth,  281 

The  Heart's  Dialogue, 282 

An  Epithalamium, 284 

To  the  Shade  of  Robert  Ilerrick, 286 

A  National  Ode, 287 

Daniel  "Webster, 290 

Ode  Sung  at  the  Dorchester  Celebration  of  July  4, 1855,  291 

To  an  Invalid, 293 

Strength, 295 

In  a  Funeral  Album, 298 

A  Departure, 299 

To  the  Old  Family  Clock, 301 

To  a  Dead  Tree,  with  a  Vine  trained  over  it,      .        .        .  303 


X  CONTENTS. 

The  Four  Halcyon  Points  of  the  Year,    ....  306 

The  McLean  Asylum,  Somerville, 310 

To  Elsie, 314 

A  Meditation, 318 

The  Autumnal  Equinox, 320 

Odysseus  and  Calypso, 323 

Triflings. 
Song,  sung  at  the  Opening  of  the  "  Tremont  House,"  Oc- 
tober 16,  1829, 333 

Lines  on  the  Restoration  of  the  Federal  Street  Theatre,    .  336 

A  Winter  Soliloquy, 346 

Xenia. 

With  a  Mosaic  Butterfly, 349 

With  a  Mosaic  Table, 350 

With  a  Watch, 351 

With  a  Flowered  Fan, 353 

With  a  Pair  of  Spectacles, 354 

With  a  Gold  Pen  in  Ivory, 354 

With  a  Copy  of  "  Vanity  Fair," 356 

With  an  Opera-Glass, 357 

With  a  Mosaic  "  Forget  me  Not,"    .        .        .        .        .  359 

With  a  Bible,  on  a  Wedding-Day, 361 

ToH.E.  S., 362 

7 


TRANSLATIONS 


THE     PHENOMENA, 


APPEARANCES     OF     THE     STARS 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    GREEK 


OF 


A  E  A  T  U  S . 


PREFACE. 


This  piece  is  at  least  a  singular  relic,  if  we  are 
not  permitted  to  call  it  a  very  poetical  one,  from 
the  old  world.  It  is  singular  for  its  unusual  sub- 
ject, its  extreme  simplicity  of  composition,  and  its 
extraordinary  fortune.  It  was  the  first  attempt, 
so  far  as  we  know,  to  represent  in  verse  the  groups 
and  motions  of  the  stars ;  and  the  design  is  carried 
through  with  a  severe  plainness,  which  may  seem 
dry  and  insipid  to  modern  taste.  The  poet  appears 
to  have  relied  for  effect  more  upon  the  charm  of 
his  numbers  than  any  ornaments  of  fancy.  But 
though  the  work  is  thus  technical  in  its  matter, 
and  unimaginative  in  its  form,  seeming  to  have 
little  to  invite  popularity  or  even  to  preserve  itself 
alive,  —  though  the  most  eloquent  of  Roman 
scholars  speaks  of   its  author  as  not  profoundly 


4        THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

acquainted  with  the  very  phenomena  he  under- 
takes to  describe,*  and  the  most  masterly  of  Ro- 
man critics  dismisses  him  with  the  coldest  of  all 
praise,  f  —  it  has  yet  received  marks  of  the  highest 
favor  in  all  ages,  and  arrived  at  distinctions  such 
as  few  of  the  compositions  of  antiquity  have 
reached.  Ovid  prophesied  that  it  should  live  for 
ever  with  the  luminaries  it  described.  It  was 
translated  by  Cicero,  who,  in  questioning  the  sci- 
ence of  the  astronomer,  expressed  his  admiration 
of  the  poet.  It  was  translated  again  by  German- 
icus,  the  princely  and  beloved.  After  the  mention 
of  these  names,  one  almost  forgets  the  humbler 
one  of  Avienus,  whose  paraphrase  appeared  not 
less  than  four  hundred  years  later.  The  magnifi- 
cent poem  of  Manilius  is  under  great  obligations 
to  it,  and  Virgil  himself  has  frequently  honored  it 
with  his  use.  Above  all,  the  Apostle  to  the  Gen- 
tiles has  invested  it  with  a  sort  of  religious  interest 
by  quoting  from  it,  with  literal  exactness,  in  his 
address  to  the  Athenians  at  ]\Iars'  Hill :  "  For 
we  are  even  His  offspring."  Doubtless,  it  was  this 
high   authority  of   St.  Paul   that   introduced   his 

*  Cicero,  De  Oratore,  1.  16.  t  Quintilianus,  10.  1. 


PREFACE. 


fellow-countryman  —  for  Aratus  also  was  a  Ci- 
lician  —  to  the  Fathers  of  the  Church.  Their 
allusions  to  him,  however,  are  short,  and  without 
any  pretensions  to  criticism. 

In  later  times  he  has  been  by  no  means  neg- 
lected ;  as  various  editions  of  both  his  poems,  the 
former  of  which  only  is  here  presented,  abundantly 
testify.  Hugo  Grotius,  before  he  was  eighteen 
years  old,  devoted  to  it  the  first  effort  of  his  literary 
strength,  as  the  great  Roman  orator  had  done 
before  him.  If  Vossius  could  say,  that  it  was 
wonderful  how  many  Greek  commentators  had 
written  upon  it,  whose  works  were  lost,  we  may 
add  that  other  annotations  and  comments  have 
continued  to  be  written,  down  to  the  present  day, 
which  may  not  perish  so  easily. 

Yet,  with  all  these  claims  on  attention,  the  poem 
has  never  appeared  in  the  English  language.  The 
translator  offers  this  as  an  apology  for  the  attempt 
he  here  makes  to  supply  a  literary  deficiency.  In 
performing  his  task,  he  has  chosen  to  present  the 
plain  old  bard  literally,  and  in  his  own  manner, 
rather  than  try  to  recommend  him  by  modern  airs 
and  fancied  embellishments.  As  for  his  poetical 
merits,  which  have  been  so  variously  judged  of. 


0        THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

we  must  at  least  concede  something  to  the  illus- 
trious names  that  have  reflected  their  praise  upon 
him.  And  if  we  are  compelled  to  say,  with  De- 
lambre,  that  he  was  rather  a  versifier  than  either 
an  accurate  astronomer  or  a  true  poet,  it  yet  will 
be  but  justice  to  add,  with  Bailly,  that  "  time  pre- 
serves only  the  works  that  defend  themselves 
against  it."  * 

The  variations  of  the  Greek  text,  and  its  discre- 
pancies with  the  earliest  versions,  indicate  that  it 
has  had  its  share  of  corruptions.  The  edition  of 
Buhle,  with  its  copious  critical  apparatus,  seemed 
to  leave  nothing  to  be  desired.  But  the  present 
translation  has  availed  itself,  besides,  of  the  later 
edition  of  Matthise  ;  of  that  published  in  1821  by 
the  Abbe  Halma,  from  manuscripts  in  the  Royal 
Library  at  Paris ;  and  of  the  readings  of  the 
learned  Voss,  —  though  with  a  prudent  jealousy 
of  his  fondness  for  conjectural  emendations.f 

Boston,  1840. 


*  Histoire  de  V Astronomic  Moderne,  I,  14. 

t  Two  editions  have  been  published  since,  one  by  Buttmann  in 
1826,  and  another  by  Bekker  in  1828,  both  at  Berlin;  but  these  I 
have  not  seen. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


Since  this  Preface  was  written,  and  this  trans- 
lation completed,  both  the  "  Phenomena "  and 
"  Diosemeia  "  of  Ai'atus  have  been  rendered  into 
English  verse  by  Dr.  John  Lamb,  Master  of  Cor- 
pus Christi  College,  Cambridge,  and  Dean  of 
Bristol.  This  work  was  published  in  1848.  It  is 
altogether  too  paraphrastic  for  fidelity ;  occasion- 
ally adding  what  is  nowhere  in  the  original,  and 
omitting  what  it  does  not  care  to  present.  Its 
measure  is  sometimes  defective  and  sometimes 
redundant,  and  its  rhymes  are  frequently  inad- 
missible. The  name  of  the  "  Little  Bear "  it  al- 
ways writes  "  Cynosyra,"  in  total  disregard  of  the 
Greek  diphthong,  and  in  forgetfulness  of  many 
a  beautiful  line  of  English  poetry  ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  stars  that  have  no  names  in  the  Greek 
text  are  spoken  of  under  the  Arabian  titles,  which 
were  not  bestowed  upon  them  till  centuries  after 
the  age  of  Aratus. 

Boston,  1853. 


THE  APPEAEANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 


From  Jove  begin  we.*     Let  us  never  leave 
Him  uninvoked ;  for  full  of  Jove  are  all 
The  paths  of  mortals  ;  their  assemblies  all ; 
The  sea  is  full,  the  harbors  ; —  everywhere, 
We  all  in  all  things  need  the  aid  of  Jove. 
For  we  are  even  his  offspring.!     Kind  to  men, 
He  shows  good  omens ;  spurs  to  toil  the  nations,. 
Reminding  of  life's  needs ;  tells  when  the  glebe 
Is  best  for  ox  and  spade  ;  what  hour  's  propitious 

*  The  Scholiast  Theon  says  well  at  this  place  :  "  Very  becom- 
ingly does  Aratus,  being  about  to  declare  the  position  of  the  stars, 
invoke  in  the  beginning  Jove,  the  Father  and  Maker  of  them.  For 
by  Jove  is  to  be  understood  the  Creator  of  the  -svorld." 

t  This  is  the  passage  quoted  by  St.  Paul,  Acts  xvii.  28. 


10      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

To  set  the  plant  and  broadcast  sow  the  seed. 
For  He  in  heaven  these  signs  has  firmly  set, 
Ordering  the  constellations ;  and  each  year 
Appoints  the  stars  to  teach  what  man  should  do, 
That  all  things  may  spring  forth  in  their  due  season. 
Him  they  propitiate,  then.  Him  First  and  Last* 

Hail,  Sire !  all  wonder,  and  all  aid  to  men  ! 
Hail,  Thou  and  thy  first  offspring !  hail,  ye  Muses, 
Most  gracious  all !    If  rightly  I  invoke  you 
Singing  the  stars,  inspire  and  fill  the  song. 

Some  fixed  and  many,  others  wandering  wide. 
Roll  daily  in  heaven,  continuous,  without  end  ; 
Yet  not  a  jot  is  moved  the  steady  axis, 


*  Voss,  in  his  translation,  reduces  the  last  words  of  this  line  to 
mere  adverbs.  And  so  the  Scholiast  understood  them,  who  says : 
"  This  may  refer  to  the  libations ;  since  the  first  of  these  was  for 
the  Olympian  gods,  the  second  for  heroes,  and  the  last  for  Jupiter 
the  Saviour."  But  the  text  will  bear  perfectly  well  the  present 
nobler  intei-pretation. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       11 

Unalterable,  but  holds  on  all  sides  poised 
The  central  earth,  while  round  it  sweeps  the  sky. 
Two  poles,  one  at  each  end,  its  limits  mark, 
One  out  of  sight,  one  at  the  opposite  North 
High  up  from  Ocean. 

Close  surrounding  it 
Two    Bears    revolve     tog'ether,  —  thence    called 

Wains*  — 
Which    keep    their    heads   for   ever   toward   the 

haunches 
Each  of  the  other ;  back  to  back  they  move, 

*  The  play  upon  words,  in  this  mistaken  etymology,  cannot  be 
represented  in  English,  and  is  trifling  enough  in  the  Greek.  The 
simple  fact  is,  that  the  larger  of  these  constellations  was  known 
by  the  different  names  of  the  Bear,  and  the  Wain  or  Ox-Cart,  as 
early  as  the  time  of  Homer.  This  diversity  in  the  image  of  so  con- 
spicuous a  group  of  stars  might  have  arisen  from  the  opposite  associ- 
ations of  the  hunter's  and  the  herdsman's  life.  "  It  is  a  curious  co- 
incidence, that  among  the  Algonquins  of  the  Atlantic  and  of  the 
Mississippi,  alike  among  the  Narragansetts  and  the  Illinois,  the 
north  star  was  called  the  Bear."  —  Bancroft's  History  of  the  United 
States,  Vol.  III.  p.  314.  Aulus  Gellius  has  one  of  his  pleasantest 
httle  narratives,  Lib.  II.  cap.  21,  about  the  Bear,  Wagon,  or,  as 
the  Romans  called  it,  the  Septemtriones. 


12       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

By  turns  supine  and  upright.     If  we  credit 
The  tale,  from  Crete  by  Jove's  great  favor  these 
Ascended  into  heaven.     He  was  their  nursling. 
On  fragrant  Dictos,  near  the  Idaean  mount,* 
They  lodged  him  in  a  cave  a  year,  and  fed  him  ; 
While  Saturn  was  deceived  by  the  Dictaean 
Curetes.     One  they  name  the  Cynosura,f 
The  other  Helice.     The  Grecian  sailor 
By  Helice  directs  his  bark  ;  Phoenicians, 


*  There  is  not  the  least  authority  for  the  new  reading  of  Voss  in 
this  passage ;  and  the  mythologists  and  geographers  may  be  left  to 
settle  the  difficulty  of  the  text  as  they  best  can. 

t  The  Great  Bear,  Bootes,  and  the  Hound  of  Orion,  are  men- 
tioned by  Homer;  Arcturus,  and  the  Hound,  by  his  name  Sirius, 
are  mentioned  by  Hesiod ;  and  the  Pleiades,  the  Hyades,  and  Orion, 
by  both  those  ancient  poets.  The  only  constellations  that  are  al- 
luded to  beyond  doubt  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  are  the  Dragon,  the 
Pleiades,  Orion,  and  the  Bear.  Amos  v.  8 ;  Job  ix.  9,  xxvi.  13, 
xxxviii.  31,  32.  The  "Arcturus  "  of  Job,  xxxviii.  and  ix.,  is  now  gen- 
erally understood  by  the  learned  to  be  the  Great  Bear.  —  The  Little 
Bear  was  introduced  into  Greece  by  Thales  from  the  East,  whence, 
indeed,  came  most  of  the  other  constellations,  especially  those  of  the 
Zodiac.  We  must  admit  this,  notwithstanding  the  assertion  of  Pliny 
to  the  contrary.  Hist.  Nat.  2.  8. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       lo 

Confiding  in  the  former,  plough  the  deep.* 

Clearest,  indeed,  and  readiest  to  the  sight, 

Shines  broadly  Helice  at  earliest  eve ; 

But  her  small  mate  best  guides  the  mariner. 

Revolving  in  a  narrower  round  than  she 

By  her  too  the  Sidonians  voyage  straightestf 

The  twain  disparting,  like  a  river's  flood,f 
Vast  wonder,  rolls  the  Dragon,  bending  round 
His  coil  immense;  while  upon  each  side  stand 
The  Bears,  safe  lifted  from  the  dark-blue  sea.§ 


*  "  And  thou  shalt  be  our  star  of  Arcady, 

Or  Tyrian  Cynosure."  —  Milton's  Comus. 
+   "  Esse  duas  Arctos  ;  quarum  Cynosura  petatur 
Sidoniis,  Heliccn  Graia  carina  notet." 

Ovid.  Fasti,  3.  107,  108. 
X  "  Maximus  hie  flexu  sinuoso  elabitur  Anguis 

Circum,  pcrque  duas,  in  morcra  fluminis,  Arctos." 

Virg.  Georg.  1.  244-24G. 
§  "Arctos,  Occani  ractuentcs  a?quore  tingi." —  Georg.  1.  247. 

" liquidiquc  immunia  ponti."  —  Ovid.  Fasti,  4.  575. 

"  Ol'r;  5'  ciiJifxopos  eari  Xoerpcov  '^Kcavolo." 

11.18.  489,  and  Od>/s.  5.  273. 


14       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

One  with  his  tail  he  measures,  stretching  far, 
While  in  his  folds  he  clasps  the  other ;  its  tip 
Rests  at  the  head  of  the  bear  Helice, 
While  Cynosura's  head  lies  in  that  coil, 
Which  thence  descending  reaches  to  her  foot. 
And  thence  again  twines  backward.    Nor  from  one 
Point,  nor  with  single  star,  his  huge  head  shines : 
Two  in  his  temples  beam,  two  in  his  eyes. 
While  one  yet  lower  studs  the  monster's  jaw. 
That  head  aslant  seems  nodding  towards  the  tail 
Of  Helice,  with  whose  extremest  end 
The  jaw  and  the  right  temple  range  in  line.* 
Itself  keeps  floating  near  about  the  spot, 
Where  furthest  West  and  East  embrace  each  other. 

Near  it  there  rolls,  like  to  a  struggling  man, 


*  The  objection  of  Hipparchus,  that  we  should  read  "the  left 
temple,"  was  hasty.  The  image  of  the  Dragon,  according  to  Eu- 
doxus,  which  is  that  described  by  Aratus,  shows  both  temples  ;  — 
presenting  the  front  face  and  not  the  profile. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       15 

An  Image  none  knows  certainly  to  name,* 
Nor  what  he  labors  for.     But  yet  they  call  him 
Engonasin  ;  f  because  upon  his  knees 
Cuouching  he  seems;   while  over  both  his  shoul- 
ders 
His  hands  are  spread,  on  this  side  and  on  that, 
A  fathom  wide  ;  and  full  upon  the  forehead 
He  tramples  with  his  foot  the  crooked  Dragon. 

There  too  that  Crown,  which  Bacchus  set  on 
high,t 
A  brilliant  sign  of  the  lost  Ariadne, 

*  "  Nixa  venit  Species  genibus,  sibi  conscia  causae." 

Manil.  1.  322. 

t  Engonasin ;  that  is,  the  Kneeling  One ;  so  named,  or  rather 
forborne  to  be  named,  by  Ptolemy.  "Ignota  facies,"  adds  Ma- 
nilius,  5.  646.  It  is  remarkable  that  Aratus  always  speaks  of  tliis 
constellation  as  if  with  a  superstitious  reserve.  See  line  614.  The 
name  it  now  bears  is  Hercules.  Dr.  Lamb  thinks  "no  one  can 
doubt  (?)  that  this  figure  represents  our  first  parent  Adam  after  the 
Fall." 

t  "Gnosia  stella  Corona;." — Virg.  Georg.  1.  222.  "  Coronam 
Gnosida."  —  Ovid.  Fasti,  3.  457,  458. 


16       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Rolls  'neath  the  shoulder  of  the  wearied  Image. 
His    shoulder    nears     the     Crown ;    but    for    his 

head, 
Seek  it  by  that  of  Ophiuchus.     Hence 
You  may  point  out  that  glittering  Serpent-Bearer 
Himself.     Below  the  head  the  shining  shoulders 
How  manifest !  e'en  in  the  full  moon's  light 
They  may  be  seen.     The  hands  indeed  match  not, 
Where  only  here  and  there  a  thin  ray  glimmers. 
Yet  still  not  unobservable,  nor  mean, 
E'en    these  ;    but   they   are    burdened    with    the 

Snake, 
That  girdles  Ophiuchus.     He,  firm  fixed. 
With  both  his  feet  tramples  that  mighty  beast,* 
The  Scorpion,  on  the  eye  and  breastplate  standing 
Erect ;  while  in  both  hands  the  Serpent  writhes,  — 
Small  in  the  right,  but  in  the  left  reared  high. 
And  ending  with  his  maw  close  to  the  Crown. 

*  Our  poet  is  here  at  fault.     Only  the  left  foot  of  Ophiuchus 
presses  the  Scoi-pion. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       17 

Under  his  coil  seek  for  the  mighty  Claws  ;  * 
Though   these   are    scant   of  beams,   in   nothing 
splendid. 

Just  behind  Helice,  moves  like  a  driver 
Arctophylax,  whom  men  Bootes  call,! 
Because  he  seems  to  urge  the  wain  of  the  Bear ;  — 
In  each  part  shining,  but  beneath  his  zone 
Outshines  the  rest  Arcturus,  radiant  star. 

Below  Bootes'  feet  thou  seest  the  Virgin, 
An  ear  of  corn  held  sparkling  in  her  hand. 

*  The  ancient  name  of  the  seventh  sign  of  the  Zodiac  was  Claws 
(Chelae),  that  is,  of  the  Scorpion.  The  substitution  of  Libra,  the 
Balance,  with  its  corresponding  picture,  has  been  ascribed  by  some 
to  Julius  Caesar.     See  Virgil's  Georg.  1.  32-35. 

t  This  constellation  is  called  either  Arctophylax,  Bear-Keeper,  or 
Bootes,  Herdsman,  according  as  Helice  is  pictured  as  a  Bear  or  a 
Cart.  The  poet  confounds  the  two  figures  together  in  the  next 
line.     See  note,  p.  11. 

"  The  wind-shaked  surge,  with  high  and  monstrous  mane, 
Seems  to  cast  water  on  the  burning  Bear, 
And  quench  the  guards  of  the  ever-fixed  pole." — Shakespeare. 


18      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Whether  the  daughter  of  AstrsBus,  who 

First  grouped  the  stars,  they  say,  in  days  of  old,  — 

Or  whencesoever,  —  peaceful  may  she  roll ! 

Another  fable  runs,  that  once  on  earth 

She  made  abode,  and  deigned  to  dwell  with  mortals. 

In  those  old  times,  never  of  men  or  dames 

She  shunned  the  converse ;  but  sat  with  the  rest. 

Immortal  as  she  was.     They  called  her  Justice. 

Gathering  the  elders  in  the  public  forum, 

Or  in  the  open  highway,  earnestly 

She  chanted  forth  laws  for  the  general  weal. 

Not  yet  was  known  contention  mischievous. 

Nor  fierce  recrimination,  nor  uproar. 

So  lived  they.     Far  off  rolled  the  surly  sea. 

No  ship  yet  from  a  distance  brought  supplies. 

But  ploughs  and  oxen  brought  them.     Queen  of 

nations. 
Justice  herself  poured  all  just  gifts  on  man. 
As  long  as  earth  still  nursed  a  golden  race, 
There  walked  she ;  —  but  consorted  with  the  silver 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       19 

Rarely,  and  with  reserves,  nor  always  ready ; 
Demanding  the  old  customs  back  again. 
Nor  yet  that  silver  race  she  quite  forsook. 
At  evening  twilight,  from  the  echoing  mountains 
She  came  alone.     No  gracious  words  fell  from  her ; 
But  when  the  people  filled  the  heights  around. 
She  threatened  and  rebuked  their  wickedness, 
Refusing,  though  besought,  to  appear  again  : 
"  How  have  your  golden  fathers  left  a  race 
Degenerate  I    But  you  shall  breed  a  worse. 
And  then  shall  wars,  and  then  shall  hateful  blood- 
shed, 
Be  among  men  ;  and  grief  press  hard  on  crime." 
This   said,  she  sought  the   mountains ;    and  the 

people. 
Whose  eyes  still  strained  upon  her,  left  for  ever. 
And  when  these  also  died,  those  others  sprang, 
A  brazen  race,  more  wicked  than  the  last. 
These  first  the  sword,  that  road-side  malefactor. 
Forged ;  these  first  fed  upon  the  ploughing  oxen  ; 


20       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

And  Justice  then,  hating  that  generation, 
Flew  heavenward,  and  inhabited  that  spot 
Where  now  at  night  may  still  be  seen  the  Virgin, 
Near  the  far-seeing  Driver.     O'er  her  shoulders 
[In  the  left  wing,  and  called  Vindemiator]  * 
Revolves  a  star,  in  size  and  light  as  wondrous 
As  hangs  upon  the  tail  of  the  Great  Bear.f 
Glittering  is  she,  —  the   Bear,  —  and   bright   the 

stars 
Near  her ;  —  thou  needest  none  to  guide  thy  gaze. 
How  large  and  beauteous  that  before  her  feet ! 
One  'neath  the  shoulder ;  one  below  the  loins  ; 
At  the  hinder  knees  another  ;  |  —  but  they  all 
Without  or  name  or  figure  separate  roll. 

*  This  line  is  found  in  the  editions  of  Halma  and  Matthiei.  It 
is  rejected,  however,  by  Buhle,  and  translated  neither  by  Germani- 
cus,  Avienus,  nor  Voss. 

t  Undoubtedly  Vindemiator,  the  Vintager,  is  here  intended, 
though  praised  quite  highly  enough.  "  At  non  effugit  Vindemitor," 
Ovid.  Fasti,  3.  407,  where  is  related  the  fable  of  its  origin. 

t  Cor  Caroli,  the  Hunting  Dogs,  and  the  Hair  of  Berenice  are 
supposed  to  be  here  denoted.      The  whole  passage,  however,  is 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       21 

Under  her  head  the  Twins  appear,  below 
Her  middle  is  the  Crab.     Beneath  her  feet 
The  Lion  flames.     There  the  sun's  com'se  runs 

hottest. 
Empty  of  grain  the  arid  fields  appear, 
When  first  the  sun  into  the  Lion  enters. 
Then  too  the  loud  Etesian  winds  fall  thick 
On  the  broad  sea.     No  time  is  this  for  oars 
k      In  voyaging.     The  wide  ship  then  for  me  I 
And  let  the  helmsman  stoutly  brave  the  blast. 

Wouldst  thou  discern  the  starry  Charioteer  ? 
And  has  the  fame  come  to  thee  of  the  Goat, 
And  of  the  Kids,  who  have  so  oft  beheld 
Men  tost  and  driven  on  the  darkening  deep  ? 

not  a  little  perplexing.  The  description  cannot  be  reconciled  at 
all  with  our  image  of  the  Bear.  Dr.  Lamb  has  interpreted  the 
three  last  stars  "as  those  on  the  shoulder,  loins,  and  knee  of  the 
Virgin"  herself.  An  old  Greek  scholiast  had  understood  it  so 
before  hun.  But  what  are  we  to  think  of  "  the  hinder  knees  "  of  a 
lady  ?  Delambre  has  tmly  said,  that  one  would  be  veiy  much  puz- 
zled to  construct  a  celestial  map,  or  globe,  from  the  descriptions  of 
Aratus.    Ilistoire  de  VAstronomie  Ancienne^  Vol.  I.  p.  74. 


22      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Thou  'It  find  him,  whole  and  large,  left  of  the  Twins 
Inclining  ;  while  the  head  of  Helice 
Turns  opposite.     On  his  left  shoulder  rests 
The  sacred  Goat,  —  said  to  have  suckled  Jove  ; 
Olenian    Goat   of  Jove   the    priests  have  named 

her.* 
She  indeed  large  and  splendid  ;  but  not  so 
The  Kids,  that  glimmer  faintly  at  his  wrist. 

Close  by  his  feet  see  couch  the  horned  Bull  ! 
Fit  signs  attend  him.     How  distinct  his  head  I 
There  needs  no  other  mark  upon  his  front. 
So  do  the  stars  on  both  sides  figure  it. 
And  oft  their  name  is  mentioned.    Who  hears  not 
Of  the  Hyades,  sprinkling  his  forehead  o'er  ? 
The  tip  of  his  left  horn,  and  the  right  foot 
Of  the  near  Charioteer,  one  star  embraces.! 

*  "  Nascitur  Olcnice  signum  pluviale  Capellcc." 

Ovid.  Fasti,  5.  112. 
t  The  present  name  of  this  star  is  El  Nath. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      23 

Together  they  're  borne  on  ;  but  aye  the  Bull 
The  earlier  sets,  though  coupled  thus  he  rises. 

Nor  shall  the  hapless  race  of  Jasian  Cepheus  * 
Remain  unsung ;  for  of  these,  too,  the  name 
Has  reached  to  heaven  ;  since  they  were  kin  to  Jove. 


*  It  would  be  but  waste  of  time  to  enter  here  upon  any  mytho- 
logical details,  which  are  very  variously  rehearsed.  They  may  easily 
be  found  in  the  Classical  Dictionaries  by  those  who  value  such  learn- 
ing, or  think  the  search  worth  their  care.  One  word  of  protest, 
however,  against  an  old  whim  that  it  has  been  lately  proposed  to 
revive.  This  whim  desires  nothing  less  than  to  dispossess  all  those 
fabulous  personages  of  the  places  they  have  occupied  so  long,  and 
change  into  Christian  titles  the  whole  nomenclature  of  the  heavens. 
Julius  Schiller,  in  1627,  urged  such  a  revolution  in  his  "  Caelum 
Stellatum  Christianum."  He  had  been  preceded  by  Schickard, 
Bartsch,  and  others.  According  to  these  worthies,  the  Great  Bear 
becomes  the  Skiff  of  St.  Peter ;  Cassiopeia,  Mary  Magdalene  ;  and 
Perseus  with  Medusa's  Head,  David  with  the  head  of  Goliath.  The 
Cross  in  the  Swan  is  the  Holy  Cross ;  the  Virgin  is  Mary ;  the 
Water-Pourer,  John  the  Baptist.  The  Dog  belongs  to  Tobit,  and 
the  Triangle  represents  the  Trinity.  Something  had  been  attempted 
in  the  same  direction,  it  would  seem,  even  still  earlier.  According 
to  Athanasius  Kircher,  the  Christian  Arabs  gave  to  the  stars  in  the 
square  of  the  Great  Bear  the  name  of  the  Bier  of  Lazarus ;  the 
three  in  the  tail  being  INIartha,  INIary,  and  the  Maid.    The  name 


24      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Cepheus  himself,  just  behind  Cynosura, 
Stands  like  one  spreading  both  his  arms  abroad. 
Equal  the  line,  drawn  from  her  tail's  extreme 
To  his  feet,  with  that  which  both  feet  separates. 

But  from  his  zone  look  but  aside  a  little, 


Benetnasch,  which  the  last  of  these  three  still  holds,  and  which  means 
in  the  Arabic  Daughters  of  the  Bier,  seems  to  confirm  this  account. 
It  was  probably  given  at  first  to  the  whole  of  the  row. 

Another  gentleman,  named  Weigel,  was  of  quite  a  different  taste, 
and  appears  to  have  thought  that  nothing  was  so  beautiful  as  the 
blazonry  of  heraldic  devices.  He  accordingly  turned  all  the  starry 
figures  into  the  various  escutcheons  of  the  princes  of  Europe.  Out 
of  the  stars  in  the  Swan  he  fashions  the  Electoral  Swords ;  out  of 
those  of  the  Eagle,  Dolphin,  and  Antinous,  the  Prussian  Eagle ; 
out  of  those  of  the  Charioteer,  the  Trefoil,  the  ensign  of  France. 
In  the  region  where  the  constellation  Orion  glitters,  he  paints  the 
Roman  two-headed  eagle.  Napoleon  once  found  his  way  into  the 
heavens,  though  I  forget  to  whom  he  owed  this  short-lived  apotheosis. 
We  are  more  likely  to  dispense  altogether  with  picture  shapes,  as  the 
Chinese  are  said  to  do,  than  to  change  those  that  have  been  handed 
down  to  us.  As  for  names,  when  they  are  once  fixed,  they  should 
not  be  trifled  with.  History  and  science  have  an  interest  and  prop- 
erty in  them. 

*  This  does  not  correspond  with  the  figure  of  Cepheus  now  ;  and 
Hipparchus  complained  of  the  inaccuracy  in  his  day. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      25 

Just    by    the    first    coil    of    the   crooked    Drag- 
on ;* — 
There  rolls  unhappy,  not  conspicuous 
When  the  full  moon  is  shining,  Cassiepeia.I 
Not  many  are  the  stars,  nor  thickly  set. 
That,  ranged  in  line,  mark  her  whole  figure  out. 
But  like  a  key  that  forces  back  the  bolts  f 
Which  kept  the  double  door  secured  within, — 
So  shaped,  her  stars  you  singly  trace  along. 


*  It  is  the  second  coil,  according  to  the  present  configuration  of 
the  sphere. 

t  Hipparchus  justly  finds  fault  with  the  poet  for  representing  Cas- 
siope  as  no  brighter.  She  certainly  figures  with  distinguished  splen- 
dor in  the  sky.  —  Lach,  in  a  learned  dissertation  on  the  names 
of  the  stars,  in  Eichhorn's  "Allgemeinc  Bibliothek,"  B.  7,  men- 
tions the  "cathedra  mollis"  of  Juvenal  {Sat.  (y.  91)  among  the 
titles  of  this  "  lady  in  the  chair."  The  supposition  is  quite  un- 
founded, to  say  the  least  of  it.  But  it  is  not  so  ludicrous  as  the  mis- 
take ascribed  to  Bayer,  of  making  Aben  Ezra  one  of  the  names  of 
Cassiope,  —  mistranslating  Scaliger's  words  :  "  Sic  etiam  hebraice 
vocavit  Cass.    Aben  Ezra." 

}  For  the  key-shape  of  this  group  of  stars,  the  curious  reader  may 
consult  Huetius's  note  ou  Manilius,  1.361.  The  substance  of  it, 
with  a  diagram,  is  presented  by  Dr.  Lamb. 


26       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

O'er  her  thin  shoulders  while  she  lifts  her  hands, 
Thou  wouldst  believe  her  grieving  for  her  child.* 

And  there  revolves  herself,  image  of  woe, 
Andromeda,  beneath  her  mother  shining. 
I  hardly  think  thou  'It  search  the  night  long  for  her ; 
So   bright   her   head,  —  so   bright    her    shoulders 

both, — 
Her  feet's  extremities,  and  all  her  vesture. 
Yet  there,  e'en  there,  her  arms  are  stretched  and 

fastened. 
In  heaven  itself  are  chains  for  her.     For  ever 
Those  hands  must  keep  their  posture  and  their 

bonds. 

The  huge  Horse  o'er  her  head  is  driven  on,t 

*  "  That  starred  Ethiop  queen,  that  strove 

To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 

The  Sea-Nymphs,  and  their  power  offended."  —  Milton. 
t  "  Suspice  ;  Gorgonei  eolla  videbis  Equi. 

Nunc  fruitur  coelo,  quod  pennis  ante  petebat." 

Ovid.  Fasti,  3.  448,  455. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      27 

Drawn  to  his  middle  ;  with  whose  lowest  point 
And  her  head's  crown,  one  star  in  common  shines.* 
With  that  three  others,  at  the  sides  and  shoulders, 
Beauteous  and  wide,  compose  a  perfect  square.f 
In  no  proportion  to  them  is  the  head. 
Or  neck,  though  long.     But  yet  the  farthest  star, 
Fixed  in  the  burning  nostril,^  might  e'en  vie 
With  those  four  brilliant  ones  that  best  define  him. 
He  's  not  four-footed  ; — with  no  hinder  parts, 
And  shown  but  half,  rises  the  sacred  Horse. 
They  say  that  he  to  lofty  Helicon 
Brought  the  pure  spring  of  copious  Hippocrene. 
For  upon  Helicon  no  streams  flowed  down, 
Till  the  Horse  smote  it ;  then  the  abundant  waters 
Gushed  at  the  stamp  of  his  fore-hoof.     The  shep- 
herds 
First  called  it  Hippocrene,  —  the  Horse-Fountain. 

*  Now  called  Alplieraz;  Arab.  The  Horse. 
t  "  The  Square  of  Pegasus." 
I  The  star  Enif ;  Arab.  Nose. 


28       THE  APPEARAXCE5  OF  THE  STARS. 

Still  from  the  rock  it  pours ;  not  far  from  where 
The    Thespians   dwell,  thou  seest  it:  —  but   the 

Horse 
Circles  in   heaven.  Li.id   there   thou  must   behold 

him. 

Near  are  the  rapid  courses  of  the  Ram  : 
Who,  though  he  runs  the  vrides:  rounds  of  all. 
No  less  keeps  iip  with  the  Bear  Cv..     .... 

L  :  .,    ■  J   indeed,  and  poorly  starred,  as  when 
One  looks  by  r.io onlight ;  yet  not  far  below 
The  girdle  of  Andromeda  thou  'It  find  him. 
Midway  he  cleaves  the  broad  expanse  ;  even  where 
The  Claws  roll,  and  Orion's  glinering  belt 
And  yet  another  sign  thou  shalt  discover 
Beneath  Andromeda.     Three  lines  compose 
The  Triaxgle  :  on  tvro  sides  measured  equal, 
The  third  side  less.     It  is  not  difficult 
To  be  discerned,  more  luminous  than  many. 
Southward  of  these  not  far.  twinkles  the  Ram. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       29 

On  further,  in  the  portals  of  the  South, 
The  Fishes  shine  ;  one  higher  than  the  other, 
And  closer  heedful  of  the  rushing  North. 
From  each  of  them  extends  as  't  were  a  band, 
That  fastens  tail  to  tail,  as  wide  it  floats ; 
And  one  star,  large  and  brilliant,  clasps  its  ends,  — 
The  Heavenly  Knot  't  is  called.*     The  Northern 

Fish 
By  the  left  shoulder  of  Andromeda 
Is  fitly  designate,  lying  so  near  it. 

Her  lover,  Perseus,  seek  for  by  her  feet. 
Which  ever  at  his  shoulders  are  revolving. 
Tallest  of  all  his  compeers  at  the  North 
He  towers.     His  right  hand  stretches  toward  the 

chair 
Of  his  bride's  mother.     Swift,  like  one  pursuing. 
Dusty  he  strides  through  Jove's  parental  heavens.f 

*  Now  El  Rischa ;  Arab.  The  Cord. 

t  The  expression  "  dusty,"  or  "  raising  a  dust,"  is  tlie  Homeric 


30       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Near  his  left  knee,  together  clustered,  all 

The  Pleiades  move  on.*     To  hold  the  whole 

Needs  no  great  space,  and  they  are  faint  to  sight. 

As  seven,  their  fame  is  on  the  tongues  of  men,t 

Though  six  alone  are  beaming  on  the  eye. 

Not  that  a  star  has  e'er  been  lost  from  heaven. 

As  from  our  youth  we  've  heard  ;  absurdly  so 

'T  was  fabled.    These  the  seven  names  they  bear : 

Alcyone,  and  Merope,  Celseno, 

Taygeta,  and  Sterope,  Electra, 

And  queenly  Maia.     Small  alike  and  faint. 

But  by  the  will  of  Jove  illustrious  all. 

At  morn  and  evening,  since  he  makes  them  mark 

Summer  and  winter,  harvesting  and  seed-time.f 

way  of  describing  great  speed.  The  idea  of  some,  that  allusion  is 
here  made  to  the  circumstance  of  one  of  the  hero's  feet  being  in  the 
Milky  Way,  appears  to  me  very  far-fetched. 

=*  The  Pleiades,  though  now  accounted  a  part  of  the  constellation 
of  the  Bull,  were  spoken  of  and  painted  as  separate  from  it  by  the 
ancient  astronomers. 

t  "  Quie  septem  did,  sex  tamen  esse  solent."  —  Ovid.  Fasti,  4. 167. 

i  I  follow  here  a  conjectural  emendation  of  Voss,  as  confirmed  by 
the  version  of  Avienus. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       31 

The  Shell,  too,  is  but  small,  which  Hermes 
bored,* 
Yet  in  his  cradle,  and  bade  name  the  Lyre. 
He  placed  it  by  the  inexplicable  Image 
In  lifting  it  to  heaven,     f  The  rigid  shape 
With  his  left  knee  approaches  it ;  his  head  J 


*  Great  injustice  is  here  done  to  the  Lyre,  wliosc  principal  star  is 
among  the  very  finest  in  the  sky. 

t  These  three  lines  are  obscure ;  and,  though  found  in  llippar- 
chus,  are  passed  over  by  the  Latin  translators.  Buhlc  says  that  they 
still  want  help.  The  present  version  makes  use  of  a  conjectural 
reading  of  Voss,  which  is  yet  not  pcifectly  satisfactory.  Hermann, 
on  the  contrary,  finds  no  difficulty  in  the  case.  For  "rigid,"  he 
would  have  "  winged  " ;  supposing  the  figure  to  be  that  of  the  Vul- 
ture, who  was  formerly  represented  as  holdmg  the  Lyre  in  his  claws. 
Such  a  figm-e  is  certainly  of  great  antiquity.  The  Arabian  name 
for  the  principal  star  in  the  Lyre,  Vega,  is  generally  supposed 
to  denote  the  falling  or  lighting  Vulture.  Hermann  is  offended  with 
Bode  for  omitting  the  Vulture  in  his  picture  of  the  Ptolemaic  con- 
stellations. Ovid  certainly  speaks  of  the  sign,  in  one  instance,  under 
the  name  of  Milvus,  the  Kite  (Fasti,  3.  793) ;  but  Krebs  main- 
tains, at  the  place,  that  no  such  constellation  is  mentioned  by  any 
writer  on  astronomy  before  the  time  of  Ovid. 

t  "His  head"  is  far  from  being  so  situated;  and  this  seems  to 
me  the  chief  difficultv. 


32       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Just  opposite  the  Bird.     The  Lyre  itself 
Between  that  knee  and  the  Bird's  head  is  stationed. 

In  heaven,  too,  flies  the  variegated  Bird,* 
Himself  but  dim,  though  still  his  pinions  roughen 
With  stars  not  large,  that  shed  a  moderate  light. 
He  thus,  as  one  that  floats  on  well-poised  wings, 
Propitious  seeks  the  West ;  —  at  the  right  hand 
Of  Cepheus  his  right  talons  stretching  forth. 
While  his  left  wing  brushes  the  Horse's  hoof. 

Him  as  he  springs  the  Fishes  twain  attend  ; 
While  by  that  Horse's  head  the  Water-Pourer 
Spreads  his  right  hand,  just  behind  Capricorn.j 
Before  him,  further  westward,  lies  inclined 
That  Goat  himself,  where  the  Sun's  might  turns 
back. 

*  This  "  Bird  "  was  called  the  "  Swan,"  as  far  back  as  Eratosthe- 
nes. We  must  acknowledge  that  our  poet  gives  but  a  poor  account 
of  this  beautiful  constellation. 

t  "Jam  levis  obliqua  subsedit  Aquarius  urna." 

Ovid.  Fasti,  2.  456. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       33 

Not  in  this  month  surround  thee  with  the  sea, 
Crossing  its  broad  expanse.     For  little  progress 
Thou  'It  make  by  day,  since  now  the  days  run 

shortest ; 
Nor,  as  thou  tremblest  at  the  night,  will  dawn 
Hasten  to  meet  thee,  call  thou  ne'er  so  loud. 
Then    blow   the    fearful    south-winds,   when   the 

Goat 
With  the  sun  rises  ;  and  then  Jove's  sharp  cold. 
Still  worse,  besets  the  stiffening  mariner. 
But   ah !   the   whole    year   through,  beneath   the 

keels 
The  sea  will  darken  ;  —  while,  like  water-fowl. 
Oft  gazing  from  the  ships  across  the  deep, 
We  sit  with  eyes  tow'rd  shore.     That  shore  far  off 
Is  wave-beat ;  —  one  small  plank  'twixt  us  and 

Hades.* 

*  Much  has  been  said  of  the  beauty  of  this  passage,  in  which  the 
poet  seems  to  have  had  in  mind  a  line  of  the  Iliad,  15.  628.    Lon- 
ginus,  however,  chooses  to  criticise  it  (§  10),  as  being  too  minute  to 
be  sublime,  —  a  judgment  in  which  many  will  dissent  from  him. 
3 


34      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Thou,  who  the  former  month  hast  sailed  dis- 
tressed. 
When  the  Sun  kindles  up  the  Bow  and  Archer, 
Seek  evening  ports,  nor  longer  trust  the  night. 
A  signal  of  that  season  and  that  month 
The  Scorpion  be,  rising  as  night  departs. 
For,  closely  towards  his  sting,  his  mighty  bow 
The  Archer  draws.     A  little  in  advance 
Comes  into  sight  the  Scorpion  ;  he  hard  after. 
Then  Cynosura's  head  in  the  sinking  night 
Mounts  high ;  and,  ere  the  morning  dawns,  down  go 
Crowded  Orion,  and  from  hand  to  loins 
Cepheus. 

There  's  further  shot  another  Arrow  ; 
But  this  without  a  bow.     Towards  it  the  Bird 
More  northward  flies ;  while  near  it  soars  a  second, 
Smaller  in  size,  but  stormy  from  the  sea 
Rushing,  as  night  returns.  He 's  named  the  Eagle.* 

*  "  Tunc  oritur  magni  prcepes  adunca  Jovis." —  Ovid.  Fasti,  6. 195. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      dO 

The  Dolphin,  small  to  sight,  floats  o'er  the  Goat, 
Dim  ill  the  midst,  but  four  fair  stars  surround  him  ; 
One  pair  set  close,  the  other  wider  parted. 
Between  the  North  and  the  sun's  winding  way 
Are  these  diffused.     Afar  off,  many  others. 
Between  that  solar  path  and  the  South,  ascend. 

Aslant,  below  the  section  of  the  Bull, 
Orion's  self!     What  eye  can  pass  him  over, 
Spreading  aloft  in  the  clear  night  ?     Him  first* 
Whoever  scans  the  heavens  is  sure  to  trace. 

Then  what  a  sentinel  beneath  his  feet, 
As  high  he  rears  his  back,  the  Dog  appears  I 
Various  he  shines,  not  all  illuminated ; 
The  body  faintly  sparkling,  but  the  chin 
Glows  with  a  brilliant  star,  that  scorches  sharply. 
And  hence  men  call  it  Smius.f     All  the  gardens 

*  "  Armatumque  auro  circumspicit  Oriona." —  Virg.  JEn.  3.  517. 
t  The  word  "  Sirius"  is  applied  to  the  Sun  as  well  as  to  the  Dog- 


36       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Mistake    it    not,   their    green   leaves    drained   of 

moisture, 
When  with  the  sun  it  rises.     Piercing  deep. 
It  tries  their  planted  rows  ;  some  trees  it  hardens. 
While  from  the  rest  the  guardian  bark  it  strips. 
When  it  sets,  too,  we  hear  of  it ;  the  stars 
That  trace  the  limbs  twinkling  more  feebly  round. 

Under  Orion's  feet  mark  too  the  Hare, 
Perpetually  pursued.     Behind  him  Sirius 
Drives  as  in  chase,  —  hard  pressing  when  he  rises. 
And  when  he  sinks  as  hotly  pressing  still. 

star  by  the  ancient  Greek  poets  whose  works  are  still  extant ;  and,  if  we 
may  trust  to  Hesyehius,  was  used  of  all  the  stars  by  the  poet  Ibycus, 
whose  death  is  said  to  have  been  avenged  by  the  cranes  upon  his 
murderers,  but  his  verses  have  not  been  spared  by  time.  Claudian, 
too,  speaks  of  the  "  Siria  sidera,"  Laud.  Hero.  124. 

No  star  has  been  so  signalized  by  poetry  as  this  brightest  one  in 
the  heavens.  Our  poet,  in  his  other  poem,  calls  it  the  Kvva  Opacrvv 
'Qpicovos  (Arat.  Diosem.  23).  Some  represent  it  as  barking  Jire  : 
"Latratque  Canicula  flammas."  —  il/a;u7.  5.  526.  "Nee  gravidis 
allatret  Sirius  uvis."  —  Claud.  De  Laud.  Stil  466.  Achilles  in  arms 
pursuing  Hector  is  compared  by  Homer  to  its  brilliant  but  baleful 
light.     (//.  22.  30.) 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       37 

Against  the  tail  of  the  great  Dog  is  dragged 
Sternward  the  Argo,  with  no  usual  course, 
But  motion  contrary  ;  —  as  ships  themselves, 
When    they   who   steer    them    turn   their  beaks 

about, 
Entering  the  port.     Each  sailor  presses  aft 
The  vessel  then,  that  backward  meets  the  shore. 
So  sternward  labors  the  Jasonian  Argo  ;  — 
Obscure  in  parts  and  starless,  as  from  prow 
To  mast ;  but  other  portions  blaze  with  light. 
Below  the  hind  feet  of  the  Dog,  who  hastens 
Still  forward  constantly,  the  rudder  swings. 

Though  hovering  far  aloft,  Andromeda 
Is  threatened  by  the  onset  of  the  Whale. 
She  by  the  breath  of  Thracian  Boreas 
Is  swept  inclined  ;    while  the  south  wind  drives 

on 
That  Whale,  her  foe,  beneath  the  Ram  and  Fishes, 
And  just  above  the  starry  River,  placed. 


38       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

For  O  how  flows  beneath  the  feet  of  the  gods* 
The  remnant  of  Eridanus^f  —  that  stream 
Tear-sprinkled,  which  Orion's  left  foot  laves  ! 
The  Bands,  that  hold  the  Fishes  twain  together. 
And  downwards  float  from  each  extremity. 
Behind  the  "Whale's  back  gather  into  one. 
And  in  one  star  they  terminate,  that  rests 
On  the  first  prickle  of  the  monster's  spine.  J 

Of  small  dimensions,  and  of  feeble  ray. 
Between  the  Whale  and  Rudder  circle  stars. 
Hovering  below  the  Hare's  resplendent  sides. 
Without  a  name.     For  to  no  shapely  figure 

*  "  Me  nocte  premunt  vestigia  Divfim,"  sings  Catullus,  in  the 
person  of  Berenice's  Hair :  66.  69. 

t  "The  remnant  of  Eridanus"  seems  to  refer  to  the  shrunken 
state  of  that  river,  the  Po,  under  the  misadventure  of  Phaeton, 
whose  death  and  the  sorrows  of  his  sisters  are  implied  in  the  follow- 
ing line.  Hermann  thinks  that  the  phrase  may  also  allude  to  the 
small  part  of  this  constellation  that  rises  into  view  in  the  Northern 
hemisphere.    But  the  poet  had  not  probably  two  meanings. 

t  See  p.  29. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      39 

Their  scattered  host  bears  likeness  ;  as  do  many, 
That  grouped  in  order  follow  the  same  paths 
Of  circling  years.     Some  man  of  ages  past 
Observed  their  goings  ;  and  devised  their  titles, 
Forming  the  constellations.     For  the  name 
Of  each  star  singly  none  could  tell  or  learn  ;  — 
So  numerous  are  they  everywhere,  and  many 
Of  the  same  size  and  color,  as  they  roll. 
Thus  he  bethought  him  to  combine  them  so, 
That,  ranged  in  neighborhood,  they  might  present 
Images,*  —  each  taking  his  proper  name, 

*  I  cannot  refrain  from  translating  lierc  an  animated  passage 
from  the  distinguished  German  writer  on  astronomy,  Schubert :  — 
"  To  the  astronomer  the  fixed  stars  are  immovable  boundary-stones, 
by  which  he  determines  the  courses  of  the  wandering  heavenly 
bodies.  To  the  geographer  they  are  the  signal-stations,  according 
to  which  he  surveys  the  chart  of  the  earth  at  the  heavens.  To  the 
mariner  they  are  the  lights  that  direct  him  over  the  dark  paths  of 
the  seas.  To  the  hunter,  the  herdsman,  the  wanderer,  they  are  a 
clock.  To  the  farmer,  they  are  a  calendar.  The  historian  finds  in 
them  many  a  memorable  event  in  the  oldest  Grecian  history ; 
the  poet,  the  charming  Grecian  mythology,  which  has  furnished 
such  rich  materials  to  dramatic  art  j  and  every  person  of  sensi- 
bility, an  impulse  to  worship,  meditation,  and  hope." 


40       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

And  henceforth  none  rising  to  doubt  or  guess  at. 
These,  in  clear  figures  gathered,  meet  the  sight ; 
But  those  that  hang  beneath  the  hunted  Hare 
All  indistinct  and  nameless  go  their  way. 

Underneath  Capricorn  and  Southern  breezes, 
Turned  towards  the  Whale  there  swims  a  Fish 

aloft, 
Of  the  other  pair  sole  progeny,*  and  named 

*  Duncan  in  his  "  Religions  of  Profane  Antiquity,"  says  that 
the  Zodiacal  Fishes  were  supposed  to  be  the  progeny  of  the  Piscis 
Australis  ;  —  rather  unnaturally,  and  I  know  not  on  what  authority. 
I  have  here  followed,  with  some  hesitation,  the  version  of  Hermann, 
in  his  "  Handbuch  der  Mythologie,"  3  Theil.  Voss  and  Halma  un- 
derstand the  words  as  alluding  only  to  the  solitary  position  of  the 
Fish.  This  is  the  star  Fomalhaut.  The  name  is  from  the  Arabic, 
whence  a  great  part  of  the  present  titles  of  the  stars  are  borrowed, 
and  means  Tlie  Mouth  of  the  Fish.  It  is  therefore  not  to  be  pro- 
nounced Fomalo,  as  a  very  respectable  work  on  Astrognosy  has 
directed.  I  refer  to  Burritt's  "  Geography  of  the  Heavens,"  a  valu- 
ble  elementary  book,  excelling  perhaps  every  other  of  its  kind  in 
the  copious  information  that  it  gives,  on  points  where  the  young 
student  most  needs  it.  But  it  has  several  blemishes  of  this  kind, 
indicating  here  and  there  a  defective  learning.  Thus,  it  speaks  of 
the  principal  star  in  the  constellation  of  the  Lion  as  named  Regu- 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       41 

The  Southern  one.     More  scattered  stars,  below 
The  Water-Pourer,  and  between  the  Fish 
And    skyey    Whale,   mount    dull    and    undistin- 
guished. 
But  on  the  splendid  Water- Pourer's  right, 
And  near  those  last,  —  as  't  were  a  little  gush 
Of  water,  scattered  sparkling  to  and  fro,  — 
Others  of  loveliest  aspect  modest  roll. 
Among  them  two,  nor  close  nor  widely  parted. 
Shed  more  conspicuous  beams  ;   one  bright  and 

broad 
At  the  Water-Pourer's  feet,  the  other  set 
In  the  azure  monster's  tail.     These  all  alike 
The  name  of  Water  share.     A  few  —  they  small  — 

lus,  "  from  the  illustrious  Roman  consul  of  that  name."  Whereas 
the  word  is  the  diminutive  of  Rex,  and  means  Prince.  It  was  first 
given  to  it,  according  to  Ideler  ("  Untersuchung  Ober  den  Ursprung 
und  die  Bedeutung  der  Stemnamen"),  by  Copernicus.  There  are 
great  faults  of  taste  also  in  the  performance.  But  for  real  use  it 
far  exceeds  some  popular  treatises  from  abroad,  that  are  remarkable 
chiefly  for  their  vague  sentimentality,  their  visionary  speculations, 
and  their  false  brilliants. 


42       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Beneath  the  Archer's  forward  feet  revolve. 
Bent  round  into  the  semblance  of  a  crown.* 

Under  the  burning  sting  of  that  huge  beast, 
The  Scorpion,  near  the  South  the  Altar  rises. 
Look    quick,   for   but   short  time   wilt   thou   be- 
hold itf 
Over  against  Arcturus  it  is  reared. 
Of  which  full  loftily  the  circuits  run, 
While  this  sinks  quick  beneath  the  Western  sea. 
Yet  in  this  Altar  has  primeval  Night,| 

*  If  the  reading  that  is  here  followed  be  the  true  one,  the  South- 
ern Crown  is  plainly  indicated.  But  objection  has  been  made,  that 
this  figure  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  table  of  the  stars  at  so  early  a 
period.  Voss  adopts  a  conjectural  reading  from  Grotius,  and  gives 
a  different  turn  to  the  passage. 

t  The  constellation  of  the  Altar  does  not  rise  into  our  latitude. 

t  According  to  the  Grecian  mythology,  Night  was  the  original 
Mother ;  having  produced  both  the  gods  and  men. 

"  NvKTa  decov  yevereipav,  attcrojuat,  rjbe  koL  az^Spoji/."  —  Orphic. 
"  To  say  that  Night  was  senior  to  Day,  implied  that  the  world  had  a 
beginning,"  says  Cudworth,  after  quoting  the  above  passage. 

"Night,  All-Mother  of  life,  I  praise  thee,  glorious  goddess, 
Queen !  there  is  none  like  thee,  that  crowneth  her  head  with  stars." 

Friedrich  Rilckert. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       43 

Pitying  the  weary  lot  of  mortals,  placed 

A  great  sea-sign  of  storms.     For  near  her  heart 

Lay  the  imperilled  ships  ;  —  and  elsewhere  other 

Signals  she  shows,  pitying  the  tempest-tost. 

Pray  not  that,  as  I  voyage  all-o'erclouded, 

This  constellation  may  shine  out  in  heaven. 

Cloudless  itself  and  lustrous.     Rather  loaded 

With  billowy  darkness  be  it ;  such  as  presses 

Frequent  and  thick  when  Autumn  winds  arise. 

For  oft  this  sign  gives  in  the  South  old  Night, 

In  kindness  to  hard-faring  mariners. 

Let  them  give  heed,  when  she  's  propitious  thus ;  — 

Easy  and  smooth  then  all  at  once  becomes. 

And  their  whole  task  is  light.     But  should  the 

tempest 
Strike  from  above  with  its  fierce  blast  the  ship. 
Quite  unforeseen,  and  shatter  every  sail, 
Then  are  they  hurried  down  beneath  the  surges ; 
Or  else  by  prayers  they  stay  the  passing  Jove, 
And  the  wind's  might  now  from  the  North  prevails. 


44       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Through  thousand  toils,  again  they  see  each  other 
On  the  firm  deck.     Dread  thou,  beneath  this  sign. 
The  South,  till  Boreas  clears  the  turbid  air. 
But  if  from  Western  wave  the  Centaur's  shoulder 
Is  far  as  from  the  Eastern,  and  a  mist 
Shrouds  him  a  little,  —  while  like  token  Night 
Shows  o'er  the  flaming  Altar,  —  fear  not  then 
The  South  so  much,  but  dread  the  Eastern  blast. 

The  Centaur  seek  beneath  two  other  groups  ; 
The  human  parts  below  the  Scorpion  lying, 
Those  of  the  horse  held  subject  by  the  Claws. 
He  looks  like  one  with  right  arm  ever  stretched 
Towards  the  round  Altar,  and  holds  tight  in  hand 
Some  beast  that  he  had  hunted.*     So  at  least 
The  former  ages  hand  it  down  to  us. 

But  lo  !  afar  another  constellation  I 
They  call  it  Hydra.     Like  a  living  creature, 

*  This  hunted  animal  is  the  Wolf. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       45 

'T  is  long  drawn  out.     His  head  moves  on  below 
The  midst  of  the  Crab ;  his  length  below  the  Lion  ; 
His  tail  hangs  o'er  the  Centaur's  self.     Midway 
His  volume  is  the  Cup  * ;  and  as  he  ends, 
The  figure  of  a  Crow  seems  pecking  at  him. 
See  Pro c YON,  too,  glittering  beneath  the  Twins. 

These  mayst  thou  view,  as  the  years  hasten  by, 
Renew  their  hours  in  order  ;  their  fixed  shapes 
Are  graven  on  the  night-sky,  never  varied. 
Five  other  stars,  unsteady,  always  changing,! 
Traverse  on  every  hand  those  figures  twelve. 
From  gazing  at  the  rest,  thou  'It  ne'er  conjecture 
Where   these   are    placed,  —  such  wanderers   are 
they  all. 

*  "  Crater  auratis  surgit  coelatus  ab  astris." 

Manil  5.  235. 

The  story  that  is  meant  to  account  for  the  union  of  these  three 
figures  is  told  by  Ovid,  in  his  Fasti,  2.  243  -  266. 

t  Nothing  seems  wanting  to  the  completeness  of  this  description 
of  the  planets,  as  distinguished  from  the  fixed  stars,  but  the  circum- 
stance of  their  steady,  untwinkling  light. 


46       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Years  upon  years  must  mark  their  courses  out, 
And    the   slow   signs   look   long   ere   they   come 

back. 
More  here  I  dare  not ;  failing  else  to  show 
Of  those  fixed  ones  the  circles  and  the  signs. 

Four  circles,*  rounded  as  by  nicest  art, 
There  are  ;  —  which  they  most  wish  and  need  to 

know, 
That  track  the  measures  of  the  travelling  years. 
About  them  all  are  plainly-lying  signs 
Many,  in  neighboring  order  well  disposed  ;  — 

*  These  four  circles  are  the  Equator,  the  Ecliptic,  and  the  two 
Tropics  of  Cancer  and  Capricorn.  They  are  not  drawn,  as  the 
student  will  perceive,  with  the  accuracy  of  our  modern  globes  and 
maps.  How,  indeed,  could  they  be  ?  Or  how  can  we  expect  of  a 
poet  w^hat  was  not  made  out  by  the  deepest  science  of  that  age "? 
Even  M.  Delambre,  however,  admits  that,  with  a  few  modifications, 
and  those  of  no  great  consequence,  the  constellations  of  Aratus  are 
in  the  places  where  they  truly  belong.  The  Milky  AYay  is  here 
evidently  regarded  as  one  of  the  great  circles  of  the  sphere.  It 
seems  to  be  called  "  broad  "  to  distinguish  it  from  those  lines  "  without 
breadth,"  which  are  yet  not  treated  as  if  they  were  merely  ideal. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       47 

They  without  breadth,  all  fitted  to  each  other, 
And  their  lines  corresponding,  two  to  two. 

When  haply  in  clear  skies  the  heavenly  Night 
Reveals  to  men  the  concourse  of  bright  stars. 
Not  one  enfeebled  by  the  full  moon's  light. 
But  from  the  darkness  all  flash  sharply  forth. 
If  then  a  sacred  wonder  fill  thy  mind. 
Observing  how  the  heaven  is  cleft  throughout 
By  a  broad  circle,  or  should  some  one  near  thee 
Point  out  that  radiant  belt,  its  name  is  Milk. 
For  colored  so  revolves  no  other  circle  ; 
Though  in  extent  two  of  those  four  may  match  it. 
The  other  two  rolling  in  smaller  rounds. 

The  first  of  these  to  the  down-rushing  North 
Is  neighbor ;  in  it  both  Twins'  heads  are  borne, 
The  knees  of  the  well-fitted  Charioteer,* 

*  The  phrase  "  well-fitted "  is  supposed  by  the  old  scholiast  to 
allude  to  the  junction  with  the  horn  of  the  Bull.  But  this  is  not  the 
most  likely  interpretation. 


48       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

And  the  left  leg  of  Perseus  and  the  shoulder, 
Then  holds  its  way  direct  through  the  right  side 
Above  the  elbows  of  Andromeda  ; 
Whose  outstretched  palm  lies  nearest  to  the  North, 
While  to  the  South  that  bended  elbow  leans. 
The  hoofs  next  of  the  Horse,  and  of  the  Bird 
The  neck  with  the  head's  tip,  and  the  fair  shoul- 
ders 
Of  Ophiucbns,  in  that  circle  whirl. 
A  little  further  to  the  South  the  Virgin 
Avoids  it ;  but  the  Lion  and  the  Crab, 
These  both  it  strikes,  as  they  lie  ranged  together. 
It  cuts  the  Lion  through  the  breast  and  body ; 
The  other  traversing  the  whole  shell  under. 
Where  thou  perceiv'st  him  just  in  twain  disparted. 
So  that  each  side  of  the  line  his  eyes  are  set. 
Into  eight  parts  the  whole  distributed, 
Five  roll  in  day,  o'er  the  Earth's  upper  parts  ; 
Three  in  the  lower.     Here  are  Summer's  turnings, 
As  round  the  Crab  the  Northern  ring  is  fastened. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      49 

The  other,  in  the  opposite  South,  divides 
The  Goat,  the  Water-Pourer's  feet,  and  tail 
Of  the  Sea- Monster.     In  it  lies  the  Hare, 
But  of  the  Dog  little  the  feet  except. 
Argo  is  here,  the  Centaur's  shoulder-blades. 
The  Scorpion's  sting,  the  Archer's  glittering  bow ; 
Whom  last,  the  sun,  from  the  clear  North  descend- 
ing) 
Crosses,  then  wheels   to   the   South,  and  wintry 

grows. 
Of  its  eight  parts  but  three  revolve  aloft, 
While  five  pursue  their  subterranean  way. 

Midway  twixt  both,  large  as  the  Milky  Way, 
A  halving  circle  undergirds  the  Earth. 
Here  days  and  nights  are  equal,  each  to  each. 
Of  fading  Summer  and  advancing  Spring. 
Its  sign  the  Ram  and  the  Bull's  knees  denote ;  — 
The   Ram's  full  length,  the   Bull's   but   bending 
joints. 


50      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Splendid  Orion's  belt  it  holds  ;  the  flexure 
Of  burning  Hydra ;  the  thin  Cup ;  the  Crow. 
Stars,  though  not  many,  of  the  Claws  it  crosses. 
And  knees  of  the  Serpent-Bearer.    The  swift  Eagle 
It  intercepts  not ;  but  close  by  it  storms 
Jove's  mighty  Messenger.     Near,  too,  the  Horse 
Carries  his  head  and  neck.     All  these  the  axis 
Drives  straight  about,  keeping  the  midmost  place. 

'Twixt  the  first  two,  the  fourth  is  wedged  ob- 
liquely. 
The  tropics  on  each  opposite  side  retain  it. 
The  midmost  intersects  it  in  the  midst. 
Though  by  Athene  taught,  no  man  would  skill 
To  fasten  otherwise  the  rolling  wheels. 
Such  and  so  many  spinning  them  around. 
Like  those  well-fitted  orbits  in  the  heaven, 
That  every  day  from  dawn  to  dark  hold  on.* 

"^  There  is  no  inconsiderable  poetic  grace  in  thus  intimating  the 
unhalting  motion,  day  as  well  as  night,  of  the  stars. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      51 

And  these  are  rising,  those  are  going  down, 
Keeping  their  distance  all.     Of  each  in  order. 
Each  side,  the  same  departure  and  return. 
But  this  by  as  much  of  Ocean's  flood  will  vary 
As  lies  between  the  ascending  Goat  and  Crab  ; 
The  sinuous  line  will  sink  the  space  it  rises. 
Such  length  as  the  eye  tracks,  gazing  to  heaven, 
This,  six  times  told,  it  runs  ;  each  part  drawn  even 
Cuts  off  two  constellations.*     And  they  call  it 

*  This  dark  saying  is  at  once  made  clear,  if  we  reflect  that  the 
ancient  astronomy,  for  the  most  part,  supposed  the  earth's  sphere  to 
be  suspended  in  the  middle  of  space,  equally  distant  at  every  point 
from  the  circle  in  which  the  heavenly  bodies  revolved  around  it. 
Of  course,  any  line  drawn,  as  the  poet  directs,  to  any  point  aloft, 
would  be  a  radius,  or  semi-diameter,  or  sixth  part,  of  the  whole 
round ;  and  this  hexagon,  if  completed,  would  have  two  of  the 
twelve  constellations  on  each  side.  See  Cicero's  Tusculan  Dispu- 
tations, 5.  24.  The  same  thing  is  expressed  by  Manilius,  1.  544  - 
552,  where,  in  any  good  edition,  may  be  found  a  diagram  illustrat- 
ing it.  —  I  cannot  avoid  alluding,  in  this  connection,  to  a  very  re- 
markable passage  in  Manilius,!.  168-170,  in  which  the  poet  de- 
scribes the  earth  as  thus  held  in  its  place  by  opposite  forces. 
"  Therefore  it  remains  firm,"  he  says,  "  because  the  whole  heaven 
flies  from  it  just  so  far,  and  has  made  it  to  fall  every  way,  that  it 
might  not  fall."    If,  instead  of  "  every  way,"  we  could  read  ''  al- 


52       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

The  Belt  of  Living  Creatures,  —  Zodiac. 
Here  is  the  Crab,  the  Lion  next,  and  'neath  him 
The  Virgin ;  here  the  Claws  too,  and  the  Scorpion, 
The  Archer,  and  the  Goat,  and  close  by  him 
The  Water-Pourer.     Here  the  Fish-Pair  sparkle  ; 
And  after  them  the  Ram,  the  Bull,  the  Twins. 
Through  all  these  twelve  moves  on  the  sun,  com- 
pleting 
Each  several  year ;  and,  as  he  moves  his  round, 
There  grow  about  his  path  the  fruitful  hours. 

ways,"  there  would  nowhere  exist  so  terse  an  account  of  the  New- 
tonian theory  of  gravitation :  — 

"  fecitque  cadendo 
Ne  caderet." 

For  a  beautiful  description  of  the  balancing  of  the  round  earth  in 
space,  see  the  Fasti  of  Ovid,  Lib.  6, 1.  267  -278.  In  this  description 
he  makes  mention  of  the  glass  sphere,  the  work  of  Archimedes,  in 
which  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies  were  represented.  Such 
an  Orrery  —  if  one  may  venture  the  anachronism  —  is  spoken  of 
by  Cicero  in  his  Tusculan  Questions,  1.  25 ;  and  a  fine  epigram 
of  Claudian,  the  67th,  is  devoted  to  it.  A  high  idea  of  this  plane- 
tarium is  suggested  by  the  lines  :  — 

"  Percurrit  propriura  mentitus  signifer  annum, 
Et  simulata  novo  Cynthia  mense  redit." 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       53 

Far  as  it  dips  below  the  hollow  ocean, 

So  far  it  sweeps  o'er  earth ;  while  every  night 

Six  parts  go  down  of  its  twelve-signed  circle, 

As  many  rise.     So  long  spreads  out  each  night 

As  this  half-circle  lifts  of  its  degrees 

Above  the  earth  after  the  dark  sets  in. 

Nor  should  he  scorn,  who  watches  for  the  day, 
To  mark  when  each  of  its  portions  shall  ascend  ; 
For  aye  with  one  of  them  comes  up  the  sun 
Himself ;    and   thou   mayst   note   them    as   thou 

gazest. 
But  since  or  black  with  clouds  or  hid  by  moun- 
tains 
They  sometimes  rise,  seek  others  bright  to  guide 

thee. 
These  the  great  sea,  from  East  and  Western  horn, 
May  grant  to  thee ;   since  many  such  surround 

him, 
As  from  below  each  starry  form  he  rears. 


54       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

When  the  Crab  rises,  stars  of  no  mean  power 
Lie  on  each  side  ;  some  falling,  some  just  risen. 
Down  goes  the   Crown;  down  to  the  spine  the 

Fish. 
Half  of  that  vanishing  Crown  thou  seest  aloft, 
The  lowest  half  already  gone  ;  —  but  He 
Of  the  form  reversed  his  body  scarcely  shows. 
Since  all  the  upper  parts  revolve  in  night. 
The  laboring  Ophiuchus,  too,  from  knees 
To  shoulders,  and  his  Snake  e'en  to  the  neck. 
The  Crab  draws  down.     Nor  of  Arctophylax 
Is  much  on  either  hand ;  of  the  day-part  least ; 
The  nightly  portion  has  the  advantage  now. 
Bootes  sets  through  four  of  the  signs,*  before 
Ocean  receives  him.     When  he  's  lighted  full, 
What  time  the  steer  's  unyoked,  he  more  than  half 
The  night  remains,  though  sinking  with  the  sunset. 


*  Bootes  begins  to  set  with  the  rising  of  the  Bull,  sinks  lower 
with  that  of  the  Twins  and  the  Crab,  and  disappears  at  the  coming 
up  of  the  Lion. 


I 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      55 

Nights  thus  are  marked  by  his  slow-falling  stars."" 
So  they  go  down.     But  on  the  opposite  side, 
In  nothing  mean,  glittering  in  belt  and  shoulders, 
And  trusting  in  the  might  of  his  good  sword,t 
Bringing  the  whole  Stream  :j:  with  him,  mounts 
Orion. 

Pressed  by  the  rising  Lion,  all  go  down 
That  at  the  Crab  retired  ;  with  them  the  Eagle ; 
And  of  the  Kneeling  One  the  knee  alone 
And  left  foot  keep  above  the  billowy  sea. 
Rise  with  him  Hydra's  head,  the  bright-eyed  Hare, 
And  Procyon,  and  the  burning  Dog's  fore  feet. 

*  "  ^Oyjre  hvovra  BoonTrjv,^'  Horn.  Odi/ss.  5.  272.  "  Piger  ille  Bootes," 
Ovid.  Fasti,  3.  405.  "  Erigida;  circumagunt  pigri  sarraca  Bootse." 
Juv.  5.  23. 

t  "Ensiferi  niraium  fulget  latus  Orionis  ?  "   Lucan.  Phars.  1.  665. 
"Et  tribus  obliquis  demissus  ducitur  ensis."     Manil.  1.  398. 
"Ensiger  Orion."     Ovid.  Fasti,  4.  388. 
t  "  Stelliger  Eridanus  sinuatis  flexibus  errans 

Clara  Noti  convexa  rigat,  gladioque  tremendura 
Gurgite  sidereo  subterluit  Oriona." 

Claud.  Cons.  Honor.  176  -  178. 


56 


THE    APPEARxVNCES    OF    THE    STARS. 


Nor   few  the   stars  that   'neath   earth's  lowest 
parts 
The  rising  Virgin  drives.     The  Lyre  Cyllenian, 
And  Dolphin,  and  the  well-shaped  Arrow,  sink. 
With  them  the  Bird's  wing-tip,  close  to  the  tail, 
And  the  River's  furthest  bend  are  hid  in  shadow. 
The  Horse's  head,  the  Horse's  neck,  descend. 
Now  Hydra  rises  to  the  very  Cup. 
The  Dog,  at  length,  uplifting  his  hind  feet. 
Draws  after  him  the  prow  of  starry  Argo, 
Who  sails  half-mast  above  the  earth,  what  time 
The  Virgin's  perfect  image  quits  the  deep. 

Nor  let  the  Claws,  though  faintly  beaming,  pass 
Unnoticed  when  they  rise.     For  great  Bootes, 
Gemmed  with  Arcturus,  lifts  his  crowded  form. 
Argo  will  not  be  wholly  up  ;  but  Hydra 
Draws   through   the  heaven  his    sinuous    length, 

save  only 
The  ending  point.     The  Claws  lead  on  no  more 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       57 

Than  from  the  right  knee  down  of  Him  that 
kneels 

Always,  and  always  stretches  towards  the  Lyre  ; 

Whose  shape,  mysterious  'mong  its  heavenly 
mates. 

Oft  the  same  night  is  seen  to  go  and  come. 

With  the  two  Claws  the  leg  alone  ascends. 

But  He,  with  head  reversed,  awaits  the  Scorpion 

Now  rising,  and  the  Archer  ;  for  these  bring  him  ; 

The  Scorpion  to  the  middle ;  all  the  rest. 

With  the  left  hand  and  head,  the  Bow  drives  on. 

Thus  he,  in  three  parts,  through  three  signs  re- 
volves. 

The  Claws  still  rising  carry  half  the  Crown, 

And  the  last  waving  of  the  Centaur's  tail. 

Down  plunges  then  the  Horse,  whose  head  before 

Had  disappeared  ;  and  the  preceding  Bird 

Drops  her  last  feather  from  the  upper  sky. 

The  head,  too,  of  Andromeda  descends  ; 

While  the  thick  South  impels  the  huge  Sea- 
Monster 


58      THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Against  her,  and  opposing  from  the  North 
Cepheus  his  great  hand  brandishes  ;  the  Whale 
Settles  to  his  back's  ridge,  but  Cepheus  only 
In  head  and  hand  and  shoulder  falls  from  sight. 

The  windings  of  the  River  seek  the  embrace 
Of  the  broad  ocean,  as  the  Scorpion  comes, 
Who  with  his  coming  frights  e'en  vast  Orion. 
O,  be  appeased,  chaste  Artemis  !     Not  mine 
The  story,  but  from  former  days  it  comes, 
That,  when  in  Chios  all  the  wild  beasts  fell 
Beneath  the  strong  Orion's  massy  club, 
When  at  CEnopion's  hest  he  played  the  hunter, 
He  dared  profane  her  robes.  From  that  same  island. 
Bursting  the  hills  apart,  another  beast, 
The  Scorpion,  she  aroused ;  who  bit  and  slew 
The  mighty  one,  —  mightier  than  he  himself 
Through  Artemis  insulted.     Hence,  they  say, 
Soon  as  the  Scorpion  from  his  depth  emerges, 
Orion  flies  to  hide  him  underground. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.      59 

Nor  of  Andromeda,  nor  of  the  Whale, 

The  parts  were  dim  that  met  his  rising.     Now 

In  haste  they  fly.     Then  with  his  girdle  Cepheus 

Grazes  the  earth,  the  parts  about  his  head 

Bathing  in  Ocean  ;  all  the  rest  prevented,  — 

The  Bears  refusing  any  leave  to  set* 

And  she  herself,  the  wretched  Cassiepeia, 

Still  presses  towards  the  image  of  her  child. 

Notfrom  the  chair  her  feet  and  hands  are  lifted 

With  quiet  grace,  but  like  a  diver  headlong 

She  plunges  to  the  knees,  —  so  not  unpunished. 

For  rivalling  fair  Panope  and  Doris. 

Thus  westward  borne  she  floats.     But  the  eastern 

heaven 
Rolls  others  up  ;  the  Crown's  remaining  round,f 

*  The  Bears  are  here  put  for  the  Arctic  Circle. 

t  "  The  Crown's  remaining  round."  Aevrepa  Kv/cXa  was  sup- 
posed to  denote  the  Southern  Crown,  by  Hyginus  and  Scaliger. 
But  this  constellation,  it  is  said,  was  not  grouped  till  after  the  time 
of  Hipparchus.  With  Voss,  I  follow  Cicero  and  Avienus,  the 
ancient  translators.  See  page  54,  lines  4  and  5,  and  the  note  on 
page  42,  line  2. 


60 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 


The  last  of  Hydra,  with  the  Centaur's  head 
And  body,  and  the  creature  he  holds  grasped 
In  his  right  hand.     The  Monster-Horseman  waits, 
With  his  fore  feet,  the  rising  of  the  Bow. 

With  the  Bow  rises  Ophiuchus'  form, 
And  the   Snake's  coil.      The   dreadful    Scorpion 

brings 
The  heads  of  both,  with  the  hands  of  Ophiuchus, 
And  the  first  glitter  of  the  starry  Serpent. 
Lo,  too,  the  Kneeling  One  I  always  reversed 
He  comes ;  and  now  his  limbs  and  belt  and  bosom, 
His  shoulders  and  left  hand,  displays ;  the  right  one, 
And  head,  will  with  the  Bow  and  Archer  rise. 
With  these  the  Hermean  lyre,  and  to  the  breast 
Cepheus,  are  starting  from  the  Eastern  wave. 
Then  all  the  splendors  of  the  mighty  Dog 
Go  down  ;   Orion  wholly  ;  and  the  whole 
Of  the  hunted  Hare,  whose  chase  is  never  done. 
But  not  the  Kids,  nor  the  Olenian  Goat, 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 


61 


Have  sunk  as  yet  ;    from    the   Charioteer's    huge 

hand 
They  flash,  from  all  his  other  limbs  apart, 
Waking  the  storms  when  with  the  sun  they  join. 

But  these  at  length  —  the  head,  the  other  hand, 
And  loins  —  ascending  Capricorn  thrusts  down. 
The  lower  stars  all  yield  before  the  Archer. 
E'en  Perseus  now  resists  not,  nor  the  beak 
Of  starry  Argo.     But  the  hero  sinks 
To  the  knee    and  the   right    foot ;    her   rounded 

poop 
The  vessel  dips,  as  Capricorn  comes  up. 
Then  Procyon  vanishes ;  but  other  groups. 
The  Bird,  the  Eagle,  and  the  flying  An'ow, 
Rise,  with  the  Southern  Altar's  sacred  seat. 

When  half  his  form  the  Water- Pourer  lifts. 
The  Horse  rears  head  and  hoofs  ;  while,  opposite, 
The  Centaur's  tail  sweeps  from  the  starry  night, 


62       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

Which  cannot  yet  his  head  and  massy  shoulders 
And  breast  draw  down,  but  of  the  fiery  Hydra 
The  crooked  neck  and  forehead  full  submerges. 

Much  of  her  still  is  left ;  but  all,  thick-studded, 
Sinks  with  the  Centaur,  when  the  Fishes  rise. 
With  these  comes  on  the  Fish,*  that  hangs  below 
The  dusky  Capricorn  ;  but  not  yet  wholly, 
Waiting  awhile  till  the  next  Twelfth  appears. 
So,  too,  the  wretched  hands,  the  knees  and  shoulders. 
Of  halved  Andromeda,  throughout  disparted, 
Rise  when  the  Fishes  twain  emerge  from  Ocean. 
The  right-hand  parts  these  bring  ;  the  left  uplifts. 
The  coming  Ram,  who,  as  he  comes,  reveals 
From  the  far  West  the  Altar.     In  the  East 
His  head  and  shoulders  lifts  the  rising  Perseus. 
Whether  his  zone  shines  with  the  ending  Ram, 
Or  with  the  Bull,  o'er  whom  he  closely  rolls. 
Is  doubtful.     Now  the  rising  Bull  forsakes  not 

*  "  The  Fish  "  is  the  Southern  fish,  Fomalhaut.    See  pp.  40,  41. 


THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS.       63 

The  Charioteer,  who  's  ever  bound  to  him,* 
Though  not  ascending  wholly  with  that  sign  ; 
The  Twins  bring  his  full  figure.     But  the  Kids, 
The  sole  of  the  left  foot,  the  Goat  herself. 
Come  with  the  Bull,  when  the  long  back  and  tail 
Of  the  ethereal  Whale  rise  from  beneath. 
Sinks  now  Arctophylax  with  that  first  sign, 
Four  of  which  draw  him  down,  f  save  the  left 

hand 
Still  elevate,  with  the  Great  Bear  revolving.^ 

*  Bound  to  him  by  the  star  El  Nath,  which  is  common  to  them 
both.    See  p.  22,  note. 

t  See  p.  54. 

t  I  follow  here  the  reading  of  Grotius's  MS.  which  is  adopted  by 
Voss. 

The  familiar  lines  of  Anacreon  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  here 
brought  to  the  mind  of  the  classical  reader :  — 

2Tp€<p€TaL  or    "kpKTOS  TJdr] 

Kara  x^'P^t  rfjv  Bocorou. 
No  English  version  of  these  lines,  that  I  have  ever  seen,  has  pre- 
sented the  astronomical  image  that  was  in  the  mind  of  the  poet. 
And  yet  it  was  of  the  more  importance  to  present  it,  as  it  is  there 
for  its  own  sake.  The  turning  of  the  Bear  at  the  hand  of  Bootes 
does  not  designate  the  midnight  hour  above  any  other  hour  of  the 
night.    It  is  only  a  sparkling  picture  of  the  Night  itself.    The  pic- 


64       THE  APPEARANCES  OF  THE  STARS. 

When  both  legs  of  descending  Ophiuchus 
Up  to  the  knees  are  plunged,  be  sure  the  Twins 
From  the  other  side  are  coming.     Then  no  part 
Of  the  vast  Whale  is  mounting  or  depressed, 
But  all  in  heaven  you  see  him  float  abroad. 
And  now  the  sailor  in  the  sea's  clear  glass 
May  see  the  River's  bend  from  ocean  rising, 
Waiting  Orion's  self  ;  whether  announcing 
The  measure  of  the  night,  or  of  the  voyage  ;  — 
For  everywhere  the  gods  tell  much  to  men.* 

ture,  therefore,  as  there  was  nothing  but  its  own  beauty  to  justify  its 
introduction,  should  have  been  carefully  preserved  in  translating. 

*  Voss  supposes  that  this  concluding  line  indicates  the  transition 
point  from  the  "  Phenomena"  to  the  "Prognostics,"  another  poem 
which  is  found  immediately  connected  with  the  former  in  some 
manuscripts.  On  such  a  supposition,  the  line  would  resemble  the 
star  El  Nath,  that  joins  the  tip  of  one  of  the  horns  of  the  Bull  with 
the  heel  of  the  Charioteer ;  or  El  Kischa,  that  fastens  the  Band  of 
the  Fishes  to  the  neck  of  the  ^Vhale.  There  may  be  some  plausi- 
ble ground  for  such  an  idea.  The  two  pieces,  however,  are  suflS- 
ciently  distinct  from  each  other.  They  have  come  down  to  us  under 
separate  titles  ;  being  borrowed,  as  is  supposed,  from  two  small 
works  of  Eudoxus,  the  Phenomena,  and  the  Mirror,  that  were 
written  not  far  from  a  hundred  years  before. 


THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

PROPERTIUS,    BOOK   IT.   ELEGY   XI. 

This  closing  Elegy  of  Propertius,  a  writer  of  the  Augustan  age, 
is  a  Heroide  from  the  dead.  The  version  is  quite  literal,  and  line 
for  line.  It  gives  an  opportunity  of  comparing  some  of  the  purest 
sentiments  of  classical  antiquity,  respecting  the  state  of  the  dead, 
with  those  of  the  simplest  minds  that  have  had  the  advantage  of  a 
Christian  education.  This  Elegy  has  often  been  called  "  the  queen  of 
Elegies  " ;  and  it  deserves  the  title,  which  has  thus,  as  by  the  common 
consent  of  scholars,  been  awarded  to  it.  As  an  expression  of  those 
domestic  affections  which  belong  to  no  time,  or  country,  or  institu- 
tions, but  to  the  common  heart  of  man,  it  takes  rank  above  every- 
thing of  a  like  kind  among  the  poets  of  that  cultivated  period.  I 
know  of  nothing,  within  the  same  compass,  that  approaches  it,  as  a 
picture  at  once  of  Eoman  pride,  Koman  opinion,  and  Roman 
manners, 

CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

Cease,  Paulus,  with  thy  tears  my  tomb  to  pain ;  * 

The  black  gate  opens  to  no  prayer.     'T  is  vain. 


*  The  ancients  supposed  that  the  dead  were  troubled  by  the  im- 
moderate grief  of  their  friends. 
5 


66  THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

When  once  we  Ve  passed  beneath  death's  lower 

sway, 
Relentless  adamant  bars  up  the  way. 
Though  Dis  should  hear  thee  from  his  dusky  halls, 
The  silent  shores  would  drink  each  tear  that  falls. 
Vows  move  Celestials.   When  the  boatman 's  paid, 
The  dismal  door  shuts  in  the  parted  shade. 

So  sang  the  funeral  trumpets,  when  my  head 
Found,  o'er  the  funeral  torch,  the  pyre  its  bed. 
What  profit  to  be  Paulus'  wife  ?  to  claim 
Ancestral  cars,  and  living  heirs  of  fame  ? 
Would  Fate  for  these  extend  Cornelia's  days  ? 
Lo,  I  'm  a  weight  that  five  small  fingers  raise  !  * 

Detested  glooms,  thou  grim  flood's  sluggish  sheet, 
Ye  weedy  waves  that  tangle  round  my  feet ! 
Too  soon,  but  guiltless,  hither  have  I  come  ; 

*  This  line  brings  before  us  the  image  of  the  urn  into  which  the 
ashes  were  gathered. 


THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS.     67 

The  Sire  here  grant  my  bones  a  gentle  doom !  * 

Or,  if  an  -^acus  in  judgment  sit, 

Let  urn  and  balls  protect  me,  and  acquitf 

Nigh  let  the  brother  sit ;  J  and  Minos  nigh  ; 

And  the  fell  Furies  stand  as  listeners  by. 

Stop,  stone  of  Sisyphus  ;  Ixion's  wheel. 

Hush  ;  and  let  Tantaleus  one  slow  draught  steal  I  § 

*  "  The  Sire  here  "  is  Pluto. 

t  The  "urn  and  balls,"  or  lot,  decided  who  should  sit  chief  judge 
in  the  case.  For  this  judicial  custom,  see  Hejue's  Virgil,  ^neid, 
vi.  430,  and  Excurs.  xi.  "We  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  the  parties  arraigned  was  left  to  the  decision  of  a  lot- 
And  yet  Dryden  has  fallen  into  this  mistake,  in  his  strangely  loose 
version  of  the  -^neid,  at  the  passage  referred  to  :  — 

"  Round  in  his  um  the  blended  balls  he  rolls  ; 
Absolves  the  just,  and  dooms  the  guilty  souls." 

X  "  The  brother  "  is  Rhadamanthus. 

§  Our  poet,  who  rather  affects  singularities,  gives  the  Greek  ter- 
mination to  the  name  of  Tantalus.  Ovid  has  described  in  the  tenth 
book  of  the  Metamorphoses  a  similar  respite  to  the  sufferings  of 
the  tormented  ghosts,  to  Sisyphus,  Ixion,  and  the  rest,  at  the  music 
of  Orpheus.  The  description  is  familiar  to  the  English  reader, 
through  the  imitation  of  it  in  Pope's  "  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day." 
The  two  Roman  poets  are  at  variance,  however,  in  the  case  of  Tan- 
talus. According  to  Ovid,  he  ceased  to  catch  at  the  water,  so 
charmed  was  he  by  the  sounds  of  the  lyre.    Propertius  allows  him 


68     THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

Let  cruel  Cerberus  scare  no  ghosts  to-day ; 
And  let  his  unlocked  chains  their  clanking  stay  I 
'T  is  I  my  cause  that  plead  ;  —  if  aught  I  feign, 
May  the  poor  sisters'  vase  my  shoulders  strain  !  * 

If  praise  in  ancient  trophies  any  see, 
All  Afric  speaks  Numantine  sires  for  rne.f 
With  this  my  mother's  Albine  line  may  vie, 
And  lifts  my  house  on  twofold  titles  high. 
When  soon  the  maiden  robe  I  ceased  to  wear. 
And  bound  the  bridal  ribbon  round  my  hair, 
I  joined  thee,  Paulus, —  thus  to  leave  thy  bed; 
Yet  write  it  on  my  tombstone,  But  once  wed.J 
Witness,  O  ashes !  by  thee,  Rome,  revered, 

to  taste  a  little,  as  it  flows  less  rapidly  by.  The  difference  seems 
not  wholly  unworthy  of  notice,  in  an  ajsthetical  point  of  view. 

*  Allusion  is  here  made  to  the  punishment  of  the  daughters  of 
Danaus. 

t  Scipio  the  younger,  surnamed  Africanus  and  Numantinus  after 
he  had  destroyed  Carthage  and  Numantia,  was  the  ancestor  of  Cor- 
nelia. 

X  Valerius  Maximus  tells  us,  that  women  who  took  no  second 
husband  were  held  in  particular  honor.    11.  1,  2. 


THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS.     69 

Beneath    whose    surnames,    Afric,    thou    liest 

sheared ;  — 
And  he,  who  laid  thy  homes,  Achilles,  bare, 
And  Perses  crushed,  Achilles'  vaunting  heir,  — 
He,  my  forefather.*     Spotless  did  I  shine. 
Nor  blushed  my  hearth  for  any  stain  of  mine. 
Cornelia  never  shamed  such  noble  birth. 
But  copied  as  she  could  its  brightest  worth. 

Nor  did  time  change  me  ;  —  pure  was  all  from 
blame. 
Between  the  nuptial  torch  and  funeral  flame. 
Me  Nature  governed  through  ingenuous  blood. 
Lest  I  should  grow,  by  fear  of  judgment,  good. 
Spring  from  the  urn  whatever  lot  austere,f 
None  sits  dishonored  by  my  sitting  near. 


*  iErailius  Paulus.  surnamed  Maccdonicus,  is  meant,  who  van- 
quished Perses,  the  last  of  the  Macedonian  kings.  These  traced 
their  line  from  Achilles.     See  the  iEneid,  vi.  840. 

t  According  to  the  interpretation  given  above,  this  must  mean, 
"Let  the  most  rigorous  judge  be  assigned  to  me." 


70     THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

Not  thou,  whose  girdle  freed  the  ship  aground, 
Claudia,  chaste  priestess  of  the  Turret-crowned ; 
Nor  thou,  whose  snowy  robe  relumed  the  fire. 
When  Vesta  came,  her  hearth-flame  to  requu'e.* 

Thee  I  ne'er  grieved,  dear  mother,  soon  or  late. 
What  wouldst  thou  wish  me  changed  in,  —  but 

my  fate  ? 
Scribonia's  tears  are  praises  ;f  Rome's  sad  moans, 
And  Caesar's  sigh,  are  poured  upon  my  bones. 
A  sister,  worthy  his  own  daughter,  dies,$ 
And  a  god's  grief  flows  chiding  from  his  eyes. 

But  yet  I  've  worn  the  matron's  prize-array ;  § 

^  The  vestal  virgin,  JEmilia,  whose  story  is  told  by  Dionysius 
Hal.  and  Valerius  INIax. 

t  Her  mother,  Scribonia,  became  the  wife  of  Augustus  Ctesar, 
and  made  him  the  father  of  the  famous  Julia. 

J  Cornelia  was  of  course  the  half-sister  of  that  celebrated  beauty 
whose  scandalous  life  and  wi'etched  end  appear  in  singular  contrast 
with  the  flattering  mention  of  her  in  this  passage,  and  with  the 
character  of  her  chaste  eulogist. 

§  There  were  honorary  distinctions  for  matrons  who  had  borne 


THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS.     71 

Not  from  a  sterile  house  been  snatched  away. 
Thee,  Lepidus  !    Thee,  Paulus  !  —  still  my  blest  I 
My  dying  eyes  were  closed  upon  your  breast. 
My  brother  twice  the  curule  honors  wore  ;  * 
I  saw  him  Consul,  and  then  saw  no  more. 
My  daughter !  image  of  thy  Censor  sire,f 
Like  me,  approach  but  once  the  marriage  fire. 
And  so  sustain  thy  line.  —  From  the  unmoored 

bark 
I  shrink  not ;  no  more  ills  my  lot  shall  mark. 
O'er  the  quenched  pile  when  praise  is   full  and 

free,  — 
That  is  the  loftiest  prize  of  woman's  victory. 

three  children  to  the  state.  Frequent  mention  is  made  of  the  "jus 
trium  liberorum  "  by  the  Roman  writers.  What  the  "  vestis  honores  " 
here  mentioned  consisted  in,  is  not,  however,  veiy  clear. 

*  P.  Cornelius  Scipio  was  a^dile  and  projtor  before  he  arrived  at 
the  consulship.    These  were  the  required  grades  of  succession. 

t  Here  again  is  rather  an  unfortunate  instance  of  praise  ;  for 
Velleius  Paterculus  informs  us,  that  the  censorship  of  Plancus  and 
Paulus  was  spent  in  quarrels,  and  was  neither  honorable  to  them- 
selves nor  useful  to  the  republic ;  Paulus  being  wanting  in  authority, 
and  Plancus  in  morals.    II.  95. 


72     THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

Our  sons,  love's  pledges,  now  to  thee  I  trust ; 
This  care  still  breathes,  burnt  in  upon  my  dust. 
Father,  fulfil  a  mother's  part ;  my  share 
Of  the  dear  burdens  now  thy  neck  must  bear. 
When  thou  giv'st  kisses  as  they  weep,  add  mine ;  — 
The  weight  now  rests  on  thee  of  house  and  line. 
Let  them  not  hear  it,  when  thy  sorrows  speak ; 
But  kiss  them,  as  they  come,  with  unwet  cheek. 
Enough  the  night  with  thoughts  of  me  to  wear. 
And  dreams,  as  if  my  living  face  was  there. 
And  when  thou  talk'st,  my  Paulus,  to  my  shade, 
Fancy  to  each  kind  word  an  answer  made. 
Should  e'er  an  altered  bride-bed  face  the  door,* 
A  step-dame  sitting  where  I  sat  before, 
Your  father's  choice,  my  children,  bear,  —  com- 
mend ; 
Subdued  by  goodness,  she  will  be  your  friend. 


*  "  The  nuptial  couch  was  placed  in  the  hall  opposite  to  the  door. 
If  it  had  ever  been  used  for  that  purpose  before,  the  place  of  it  was 
changed."  —  Adam's  Roman  Ant. 


THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS.     73 

Nor  praise   too   much    your   mother ;    lest  from 

thence 
A  rival  feeling  kindle  to  offence. 

Or  if  content  with  memories  he  remain, 
My  ashes  worthy  deemed  such  rank  to  gain, 
Learn  how  to  soothe  his  age,  as  on  it  steals. 
And  comfort  every  care  the  lonely  feels. 
What  fails  from  mine  be  in  your  years  enrolled  !  * 
Paulus  in  you  be  happy  to  be  old ! 
All  's   well.      No    mourning   weeds    the    mother 

clad, 
But  every  child  my  funeral  farewell  bade. 

My  cause  is  pleaded.    Rise,!  y®  pitying  Powers, 
While  friendly  earth  pays  back  life's  honored  hours. 

*  This  natural  and  beautiful  thought  is  found  also  in  Martial,  at 
the  37th  epigram  of  the  first  book :  — 

"  Diceret  infernas  qui  prior  isset  ad  umbras : 
Vive  tuo,  frater,  tempore,  —  vive  raeo." 
t  "  Rise,"  that  is,  to  pronounce  your  award. 


74     THE  SHADE  OF  CORNELIA  TO  PAULUS. 

Heaven  is  unclosed  to  Worth.     Me  worthy  find, 
And  bear  my  bones  to  rest  with  their  illustrious 
kind.* 

*  The  critical  reader  will  perceive  that  the  conjectural  emenda- 
tion of  Heinsius  has  been  adopted  in  this  line.  In  two  other  in- 
stances, lines  21  and  39,  40,  the  text  of  Burmann  has  been  deserted 
for  the  more  recent  one  of  Kuinoel. 


TO-MORROW. 

MAKTIALIS,   V.   58. 

To-morrow,  Postumus,  you  always  say,  you  '11 

live  ; 
But  when  will  that  to-morrow,  Postumus,  arrive  ? 
How  far  off  is  it  ?     Where  ?     Or  how  shall  it  be 

bid? 
Is  it  somewhere  in  Parthia  or  Armenia  hid  ? 
To-morrow  has  already  Priam's,  Nestor's  age. 
At  what  price,  say,  will  it  to  sell  itself  engage  ? 
To-morrow,  Postumus,  you  '11  live.  —  To-day  is 

late. 
He  who  lived  yesterday  keeps  with  the  wise  his 

state. 


MANZONI'S    "CINQUE  MAGGIO. 


THE    FIFTH    OF   MAY. 

He  was  :  —  and  as  his  latest  sigh 

Devoid  of  motion  left 
The  poor  remains,  unconscious  now, 

Of  such  a  breath  bereft,  — 
So,  struck  at  once  aghast  and  still. 

Stands  at  the  tidings  Earth, 
Mutely  reflecting  on  that  hour. 

The  last  one  of  the  man  of  fate ; 
Nor  knows  she  when  another  tread 

Of  mortal  foot,  that  proud  one's  mate. 
To  trample  on  her  bloody  dust 
Will  spring  to  birth. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    MAY.  77 

My  Genius  saw  his  sparkling  throne,  — 

Saw,  and  had  naught  to  say  ; 
And  when  in  fortune's  rapid  change 

He  fell,  —  arose,  —  and  lay,  — 
With  thousand  voices  shouting  round, 

It  mingled  not  one  cry. 
But  now,  from  servile  flattery  pure. 

From  coward  insult  free. 
It  rises,  —  moved  that  splendor  such 

Should  fade  so  suddenly,  — 
And  scatters  o'er  the  urn  a  chant. 
That  may  not  die. 

From  the  Alps  to  the  Pyramids, 
From  the  Rhine  to  the  Manzanare, 

Of  that  sure  one  the  thunder-bolt 
Sped  with  the  lightning's  glare  ;  — 

He  shot  from  Scylla  to  the  Don, 
From  one  to  the  other  sea. 


78  THE    FIFTH    OF    MAY. 

Was  it  true  fame  ?  —  For  other  times 

That  high  decree.     We  low 
The  forehead  bend  before  that  Power 

Supreme,  which  chose  to  show 
What  vaster  print  of  its  great  will 
In  him  could  be. 

The  stormy  and  the  trembling  joy 

Of  a  grand  enterprise,  — 
The  burning  care  of  a  tameless  heart 

With  kingdoms  in  its  eyes,  — 
Were  his  ;  and  then  the  palm  he  won 

'T  were  mad  to  have  hoped  from  fate. 
All  he  passed  through ;  —  the  height  of  fame 

Heightened  by  perils  o'er,  — 
The  headlong  flight,  —  the  victory,  — 

The  palace,  —  exile's  shore. 

Twice  was  he  cast  into  the  dust. 

Twice  consecrate. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    MAY.  79 

He  named  himself;  and  ages  twain, 

Armed  with  a  mutual  hate, 
Submissively  repaired  to  him, 

As  if  to  know  their  fate. 
He  silenced  them,  and  umpire  sat, 

Between  them,  but  above. 
He  vanished  ;  and  his  vacant  months 

Closed  on  that  shore's  small  bound  ;  — 
Object  of  envy  measureless, 

Of  pity,  too,  profound. 
Of  enmity  unquenchable. 

And  quenchless  love. 

As  on  the  head  of  a  wrecked  man 
The  billow  whirls  and  weighs,  — 

That  billow,  o'er  whose  top  the  wretch 
Stretches  his  eager  gaze. 

Straining  his  sight,  but  all  in  vain. 
To  spy  the  distant  land, — 


80  THE    FIFTH    OF    MAY. 

So  o'er  that  mind  the  foaming  weight 

Of  recollections  rolled. 
Oft  strove  he  to  the  times  afar 

His  very  self  to  unfold ; 
And  on  the  everlasting  page 
Fell  the  tired  hand. 

How  often,  as  the  idle  day- 
Was  dying  into  rest, 

His  flashing  looks  upon  the  ground, 
His  arms  across  his  breast, 

He  stood  ;  —  and  of  the  days  that  were 
Came  up  the  memories  thick ! 

He  thought  upon  the  shifting  tents, 
The  rampart's  battered  force, 

The  lightning  of  the  infantry, 
The  surges  of  the  horse. 

And  of  the  rapid-spoken  order. 
Obeyed  as  quick. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    MAY.  81 

Alas  I  in  such  a  strife,  perhaps, 

The  panting  spirit  fled. 
And  disappeared ;  but  then  a  hand 

Strong  from  the  heaven  was  spread. 
And  to  more  respirable  air. 

Pitying,  that  soul  conveyed. 
And  bore  it  o'er  hope's  flowery  paths 

To  everlasting  fields. 
Where  waits  that  prize  whose  ready  gift 

More  than  our  wishes  yields, 
And  where  the  fame  that  passed  — is  all 
Silence  and  shade. 

Lovely,  immortal,  bountiful 
Faith,  —  used  to  triumph  ever  ! 

Write  this  new  victory,  and  rejoice  ; 
For  haughtier  height  has  never 

To  the  reproach  of  Golgotha 
Bowed  down  its  humbled  crest. 


82  THE    FIFTH    OF    MAY. 

Thou  from  his  weary  ashes  keep 
Each  word  that 's  harshly  spoken ! 

The  God  who  prostrates  and  lifts  up, 
Who  breaks,  and  heals  the  broken. 

On  that  lone  pillow,  at  his  side 
Vouchsafed  to  rest* 


*  Alluding  to  the  crucifix  that  lay  on  the  death-bed  of  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon. 


FROM    THE    GEEMAN, 


It  may  not  be  improper  here  to  say  that  the  following  Transla- 
tions were  made  at  a  time  when  it  was  far  less  common  to  present 
the  poets  of  Germany  in  an  English  dress  than  it  has  since  become. 
There  is  no  one  of  them  in  which  the  writer  did  not  suppose  him- 
self to  be  the  first  on  the  field,  with  the  single  exception  of  Von 
Zedlitz's  "  Xilchtliche  Heerschau,"  of  which  he  had  a  faint  remem- 
brance of  a  very  spirited  version  read  several  years  before. 


GOETHE 


SONG   OF   THE   PARCiE   IN  « IPHIGENIA." 

IPHIGENIA. 

Within  my  ears  resounds  that  ancient  song,  — 
Forgotten  was  it,  and  forgotten  gladly,  — 
Song  of  the  Parcse,  which  they  shuddering  sang, 
When  Tantalus  fell  from  his  golden  seat. 
They  suffered  with  their  noble  friend  ;  indignant 
Their  bosom  was,  and  terrible  their  song. 
To  me  and  to  my  sisters,  in  our  youth. 
The  nurse  would  sing  it ;  and  I  marked  it  well. 


84  GOETHE. 

"  The  Gods  be  your  terror, 
Ye  children  of  men  I 
They  hold  the  dominion 
In  hands  everlasting. 
All  free  to  exert  it 
As  listeth  their  will. 

"  Let  him  fear  them  doubly 
Whome'er  they  've  exalted ! 
On  crags  and  on  cloud-piles 
The  couches  are  planted 
Around  the  gold  tables. 

"  Dissension  arises ; 
Then  tumble  the  feasters, 
Reviled  and  dishonored, 
In  gulfs  of  deep  midnight ; 
And  look  ever  vainly 
In  fetters  of  darkness 
For  judgment  that 's  just. 


SONG    OF    THE    PARC.E.  85 

*'  But  THEY  remain  seated 

At  feasts  never  failino: 

Around  the  gold  tables. 

They  stride  at  a  footstep 

From  mountain  to  mountain  ; 

Through  jaws  of  abysses 

Steams  towards  them  the  breathing 

Of  suffocate  Titans, 

Like  offerings  of  incense, 

A  light-rising  vapor. 

"  They  turn  —  the  proud  masters  — 

From  whole  generations 

The  eye  of  their  blessing  ; 

Nor  will  in  the  children, 

The  once  well-beloved. 

Still  eloquent  features 

Of  ancestor  see." 

So  sang  the  dark  sisters  ; 
The  old  exile  heareth 


86  GOETHE. 


That  terrible  music 
In  caverns  of  darkness,  — 
Remembereth  his  children, 
And  shaketh  his  head. 


STABILITY    IN     CHANGE. 

Were  this  early  blessing  steady, 

Ah,  but  for  a  single  hour ! 
But  the  lukewarm  West  already 

Shakes  abroad  a  blossom-shower. 
Does  green  Earth  my  spirit  flatter, 

As  its  first  cool  shade  it  throws  ? 
Soon  e'en  that  the  storms  will  shatter, 

Searing  it  at  Autumn's  close. 

Wouldst  thou  of  the  fruits  be  tasting  ? 
Haste  thy  portion  soon  to  get ; 


STABILITY    IN    CHANGE.  87 

Some  to  their  decay  are  hasting, 

Others  in  the  bud  as  yet. 
All  thy  pleasant  fields  are  ever 

Changing  with  each  gush  of  rain  ; 
Ah  !  and  in  the  selfsame  river 

Thou  dost  never  swim  again.* 

Thou  thyself  I  thou  changest,  fleest ;  — 

Rock-firm  things  that  by  thee  rise, 
Walls  and  palaces,  thou  seest 

Constantly  with  different  eyes. 
Gone  from  thee  the  lip  that  sweetly 

Revelled  in  the  melting  kiss. 
And  the  foot  that  boldly,  fleetly 

Scaled,  goat-like,  the  precipice. 

Hands  that  of  a  frank,  kind  nature 
Moved  but  blessings  to  bestow, 

*  The  old  Pyrrhonists  were  fond  of  this  figure. 


88 


GOETHE. 


And  the  form's  symmetric  stature,  — 

All  is  turned  another  now. 
And  in  place  of  what 's  departed, 

That  which  bears  thy  name  to-day 
Hither  like  a  billow  darted, 

Then  to  the  Source  it  speeds  away. 

Let  the  end  and  the  beginning 

Draw  together  into  one  ! 
Swifter  than  what 's  round  thee  spinning, 

Thou  thyself  be  flying  on  ! 
Thanks  !  the  Muses'  gracious  giving 

Makes  the  Imperishable  thine  ; 
In  thy  breast  the  Spirit  living, 

In  thy  soul  the  Form  divine. 


SCHILLER. 


THE   OPENING  OF  THE  NEW  CENTURY. 

1    JANUARY,    1800. 

rp  jte        *         *         *■         * 

Noble  friend!  where  now  for  Peace,  worn-hearted, 
Where  for  Freedom,  is  a  refuge-place  ? 

For  the  old  century  has  in  storm  departed. 
And  the  new  with  carnage  starts  its  race. 

And  the  bond  of  nations  flies  asunder, 
And  the  ancient  forms  rush  to  decline ; 

Not  the  ocean  hems  the  warring  thunder, 
Not  the  Nile-god  and  the  ancient  Rhine. 


90 


SCHILLER. 


Two  imperious  nations  are  contending 

For  one  empire's  universal  field  ; 
Liberty  from  every  people  rending, 

Thunder-bolt  and  trident  do  they  wield. 

Gold  must  be  weighed  them  from  each  country's 
labor ; 

And,  like  Brennus  in  barbarian  days, 
See  !  the  daring  Frank  his  iron  sabre 

In  the  balances  of  Justice  lays. 

The  grasping  Briton  his  trade-fleets,  like  mighty 
Arms  of  the  sea-polypus,  doth  spread ; 

And  the  realm  of  unbound  Amphitrite 
He  would  girdle  like  his  own  homestead. 

To  the  South-pole's  unseen  constellations 
Pierce  his  keels,  unhindered,  resting  not ; 

All  the  isles,  all  coasts  of  farthest  nations, 
Spies  he,  —  all  but  Eden's  sacred  spot. 


THE    OPENING    OF    THE    NEV/    CENTURY.  91 

Ah  I  in  vain  on  charts  of  all  Earth's  order 

Mayst  thou  seek  that  bright  and  blessed  shore, 

Where  the  green  of  Freedom's  garden  border, 
Where  man's  prime,  is  fresh  for  evermore. 

Endless  lies  the  world  that  thine  eye  traces,  — 
Even  Commerce  scarcely  belts  it  round  ; 

Yet  upon  its  all-unmeasured  spaces 
For  ten  happy  ones  no  room  is  found. 

On  the  heart's  holy  and  quiet  pinion 

Mnst  thou  fly  from  out  this  rough  life's  throng ; 
Freedom  lives  but  within  Dream's  dominion, 

And  the  Beautiful  blooms  but  in  song. 


92  SCHILLER. 


SIOUX    DEATH-SONG. 

On  the  mat  he  's  sitting  there  ; 

See  !  he  sits  upright, 
With  the  same  look  that  he  ware 

When  he  saw  the  light. 

Where  is  now  the  hands'  clenched  weight  ? 

Where  the  breath  he  drew, 
That  to  the  Great  Spirit  late 

Forth  the  pipe-smoke  blew  ? 

Where  the  eyes,  that,  falcon-keen. 

Marked  the  reindeer  pass. 
By  the  dew  upon  the  green, 

By  the  waving  grass  ? 


SIOUX    DEATH-SONG.  93 

These  the  legs  that  unconfined 

Bounded  through  the  snow, 
Like  the  stag  that 's  twenty-tined, 

Like  the  mountain  roe  ! 

These  the  arms,  that  stout  and  tense 

Did  the  bow-string  twang  ! 
See,  the  life  is  parted  hence ! 

See,  how  loose  they  hang ! 

Well  for  him  !  he  's  gone  his  ways 

Where  are  no  more  snows,  — 
Where  the  fields  are  decked  with  maize, 

That  unplanted  grows,  — 

Where  with  beasts  of  chase  each  wood, 

Where  with  birds  each  tree. 
Where  with  fish  is  every  flood 

Stocked  full  pleasantly. 


94  SCHILLER. 

He  above  with  spirits  feeds  ;  — 

We,  alone  and  dim, 
Left  to  celebrate  his  deeds, 

And  to  bury  him. 

Bring  the  last  sad  offerings  hither  I 
Chant  the  death-lament ! 

All  inter  with  him  together, 
That  can  him  content. 

'Neath  his  head  the  hatchet  hide, 
That  he  swung  so  strong ; 

And  the  bear's  ham  set  beside, — 
For  the  way  is  long ;  — 

Then  the  knife,  —  sharp  let  it  be,  — 
That  from  foeman's  crown 

Quick,  with  dexterous  cuts  but  three. 
Skin  and  tuft  brought  down. 


CASSANDRA.  95 


Paints,  to  smear  his  frame  about. 

Set  within  his  hand, 
That  he  redly  may  shine  out 

In  the  spirits'  land. 


CAS  SANDRA. 

Mirth  was  in  old  Ilion's  halls 

Ere  its  lofty  ramparts  fell ; 
Songs  re-echo  from  the  walls. 

With  the  harp-strings'  golden  swell. 
Warrior  hands,  the  battle  done, 

Rest  them  from  the  tearful  slaughter ; 
For  the  royal  Peleus'  son 

Weds  with  Priam's  beauteous  daughter. 

To  the  altar  of  Apollo, 
'Mid  the  temple's  holiest  round. 


96  SCHILLER. 

Crowds  on  crowds  exulting  follow, 
Gayly  clad  and  laurel-crowned. 

Pouring  through  the  streets  of  Troy 
Mingling  shouts  of  revel  roll ; 

Severed  from  the  general  joy 
Was  but  one  sad,  boding  soul. 

Far  from  out  the  revelry 

Did  Cassandra  joyless  rove, 
Unattended,  silently. 

Through  the  Thymbrian's  laurel  grove. 
To  its  farthest,  darkest  bound 

The  prophetic  maiden  fled. 
And  cast  indignant  on  the  ground 

The  fillet  from  her  priestly  head. 

"  All  is  now  on  pleasure  bent ; 

Every  heart  with  rapture  fired ; 
All  the  elders  confident. 

And  my  sister  bride-attired. 


CASSANDRA.  97 

None  but  I  must  mourn  alone, 

For  the  show  deceives  not  me  ; 
Ruin  swift  for  tower  and  throne, 

Winged  and  near,  I  see,  —  I  see. 

"  I  can  see  a  torch  that  gleams. 

But  not  borne  by  Hymen's  hands  ; 
On  the  clouds  a  splendor  streams, 

Not  the  light  from  altar  brands. 
Feasts  I  see  them  gayly  spread ; 

But  my  boding  spirit  hears  — 
Hears  e'en  now  —  a  God's  stern  tread 

Trampling  them  in  blood  and  tears. 

"  And  they  laugh  when  I  complain, 

And  they  scoff  at  my  distress  ; 
With  my  bosom's  bitter  pain 

Must  I  to  the  wilderness. 
Proud  ones  shun  my  solemn  mien, 

Light  ones  mock  my  prophecy ;  — 


98  SCHILLER. 

Heavy  has  thy  service  been, 
Pythian,  thou  hard  Deity  I 

"  To  announce  thy  fated  will. 

Wherefore  didst  thou  cast  me  here, 
In  a  city  blinded  still. 

Slow  of  heart,  and  dull  of  ear  ? 
Wherefore  make  me  prophet-eyed. 

When  I  cannot  change  the  doom  ? 
What  is  destined  must  betide  ; 

What  I  shudder  at  must  come. 

"  Boots  it  to  unveil  the  terror 

That  already  threatens  nigh  ? 
There  is  no  true  life  but  error ; 

To  have  knowledge  is  to  die. 
Shield  me  from  the  light  I  hate  ; 

Take  this  bloody  show  away  ; 
Frightful !  thy  decree's  stern  weight 

Pressing  on  a  vase  of  clay. 


CASSANDRA.  99 

"  My  blest  blindness  O  restore, 

And  ignorance,  sweet  anodyne ! 
Glad  song  sung  I  nevermore 

Since  I  was  a  voice  of  Thine. 
On  my  soul  the  future  pours, 

But  Thou  mak'st  the  present  black  ; 
Spoiled  the  bliss  of  passing  hours ;  — 

Take  thy  faithless  present  back. 

"  Never  shall  the  wreath  of  bride 

Round  my  fragrant  tresses  twine. 
To  thy  service  sanctified. 

And  thy  melancholy  shrine. 
All  my  youth  was  but  a  tear ; 

All  my  knowledge  was  but  smart ; 
Destinies  of  kindred  dear 

Ever  smiting  on  my  heart. 

"  Merry  my  companions  seem  ; 
All  around  me  lives  and  loves. 


100  SCHILLER. 

In  the  young  heart's  ardent  dream  ; 

Mine  alone  but  anguish  proves. 
Vain  for  me  the  new-dressed  earth. 

Blooming  in  the  Spring's  first  rays. 
Who  would  prize  this  life  of  dearth, 

Could  he  on  its  deeps  but  gaze  ? 

"  Ah !  Polyxena  how  blest ! 

All  her  soul  a  rapture  stirs, 
Him,  of  all  the  Greeks  the  best, 

Hoping  to  embrace  as  hers. 
Proud  thoughts  in  her  breast  arise, 

And  their  flush  she  scarce  conceals  ; 
She  envies  not,  ye  Gods,  your  skies, 

In  the  transport  that  she  feels. 

"  And  there  's  one,  on  whom  e'en  I 
Might  my  maiden  heart  bestow ; 

While  his  looks  plead  silently. 
Filled  with  passion's  tenderest  glow. 


CASSANDRA.  101 

Gladly,  as  a  wife,  with  him 

Would  I  seek  some  home-dear  scene  ;  — 
But  a  Stygian  spectre  grim 

Nightly  starts  and  stalks  between. 

"  Proserpine  from  deepest  hell 

Sends  to  me  her  shades  of  fright ; 
Where  I  wander,  where  I  dwell, 

Gibbers  every  ghastly  sprite. 
O'er  the  sports  of  youthful  life 

Throw  they  their  infernal  stain. 
Dreadful,  to  sustain  such  strife  ! 

I  shall  ne'er  have  peace  again. 

"  I  see  gleam  the  murderous  steel ; 

I  see  burn  the  murderer's  eye ; 
Right  and  left  I  look,  and  feel 

From  the  curse  I  cannot  fly. 
Forced  to  front  what  I  await, 

Knowing,  dreading  all  before, 


/ 


102  SCHILLER. 

I  must  on  and  end  my  fate, 
Bleeding  on  a  stranger-shore." 

While  these  words  the  seer  is  speaking, 

Hark  !  from  forth  the  holy  fane 
Strangely  mingled  cries  are  breaking,  — 

Thetis'  godlike  son  lies  slain. 
Eris  shakes  her  snaky  brow ;  — 

All  the  Gods  forsake  the  place  ;  — 
Heavy  thunder-clouds  hang  low 

O'er  Trojan  towers  and  Dardan  race. 


THE   FESTIVAL  OF   ELEUSIS. 

Bend  to  a  garland  the  gold  wheat-ear, 
Weave  with  its  kernels  its  floweret's  dye, 

Joy  from  all  faces  be  beaming  clear. 

For  the  Queen  herself,  the  Queen  draws  nigh ; 


THE    FESTIVAL    OF    ELEUSIS.  103 

She,  every  barbarous  passion  quelling, 
Making  man  with  his  fellow  consent, 

And  into  a  peaceful,  settled  dwelling 
Turning  his  ever-wandering  tent. 

In  the  shyest  mountain  cleft 

Held  the  Troglodyte  abode  ; 
Waste  and  bare  the  plains  were  left. 

Where  the  roving  Nomad  trode. 
With  the  arrow,  with  the  bow. 

Ranged  the  hunter  through  the  land  ; 
Woe  betide  the  stranger,  woe  ! 

Cast  upon  the  luckless  strand. 

On  the  search  for  her  lost  daughter 
To  these  coasts,  so  rude  and  drear, 

Ceres'  wandering  steps  had  brought  her ; 
Ah,  no  fertile  fields  appear ! 

To  detain  her  footsteps  there. 
No  built  roof  its  welcome  rears  ; 


104 


SCHILLER. 


No  proud  temple's  columns  fair 
Tell  that  man  the  Gods  reveres. 

No  sweet  fruits  of  harvest  reach 

For  her  use  their  holy  food  : 
Human  bones  all  ghastly  bleach 

On  the  altar's  pillar  rude. 
And  where'er  her  steps  she  turns, 

Sees  she  but  a  fallen  fate. 
And  her  generous  spirit  burns, 

Sorrowing  over  man's  lost  state 


"  Is  it  thus  I  find  his  nature. 

Which  we  cast  in  our  own  mould  ? 
Whose  divinely  modelled  stature 

In  Olympus  we  behold  ? 
Gave  we  not  to  him  the  earth 

As  a  God's  grant  to  possess  ? 
And  that  realm  of  regal  worth 

Roams  he  wretched,  mansionless  ? 


THE    FESTIVAL    OF    ELEUSIS.  105 

"  Will  no  God  to  pity  warm  ? 

None  of  all  the  immortal  race 
Stretch  a  wonder-working  arm,  — 

Lift  him  from  his  deep  disgrace  ? 
In  their  heavenly,  blest  domain 

They  are  dull  to  others'  smart ; 
Yet  does  human  dearth  and  pain 

Reach  and  wring  my  troubled  heart. 

"  If  man  would  become  man's  brother, 

Let  him  be  in  compact  bound 
Cordial  with  his  pious  Mother, 

With  the  all-sustaining  Ground. 
Let  him  honor  Seasons,  Times, 

Trace  the  Moon's  pure  course  along ; 
Their  calm  movement  ever  chimes 

One  melodious,  endless  song." 

Then  she  softly  bursts  the  cloud 
That  detained  her  from  their  sight, 


106  SCHILLER. 

And  at  once,  'mid  that  wild  crowd. 
Stands  revealed,  —  a  form  of  light  I 

Hot  were  they  with  feast  and  slaughter. 
When  among  their  horde  she  stood. 

And  their  savage  shell  they  brought  her 
Frothing  with  their  foemen's  blood. 

Horror  thrilled  her  frame  the  while. 

And  she  turned  away  her  head. 
"  Bloody  tiger-meals  defile 

Ne'er  a  God's  pure  lips,"  she  said ; 
"  Stainless  offerings  are  our  pleasure. 

Fruitage  which  the  fields  afford  ; 
With  the  Autumn's  harvest  treasure 

Will  the  Holy  be  adored." 

And  she  takes  the  spear-staff's  weight 
From  the  hunter's  rugged  hand  ; 

With  its  point  of  deadly  fate 
Furrows  she  the  yielding  sand ; 


THE    FESTIVAL    OF    ELEUSIS. 

Plucks  from  out  her  bearded  crown 
One  small  grain  of  hidden  might ; 

Sinks  it  in  its  small  trench  down. 
And  it  swells  and  shoots  to  light. 

And  with  green  blade  instantly 

Does  the  ground  its  breadth  adorn, 
And  as  far  as  eye  can  see 

Waves  like  golden  boughs  the  corn. 
Smiling  blesses  she  the  Earth, 

The  first  gathered  sheaf  she  binds. 
Plants  the  field-stone  for  a  hearth ; 

Utterance  then  the  Goddess  finds  :  — 

"  Father  Jupiter,  who  reignest 

O'er  all  Gods  in  upper  air ! 
That  to  accept  our  gift  thou  deignest. 

Let  some  omen  now  declare. 
And  from  this  ill-fated  race. 

Who  thy  name  have  never  known, 


107 


108  SCHILLER. 

Loftiest !  every  dark  cloud  chase, 
That  they  may  the  Godhead  own." 

And  his  sister's  earnest  cry 

Comes  before  the  high-throned  Sire  ; 
Thundering  from  the  clear  blue  sky 

Flies  his  bolt  of  jagged  fire. 
Now  the  altar,  crackling  bright. 

Forth  its  whirling  columns  pours ; 
With  them,  wheeled  in  circling  light, 

Up  his  swift-winged  eagle  soars. 

To  the  feet  of  the  Goddess  with  raptured  devotion 

The  multitude  press  and  bend  the  knee, 
And  their  rough  souls  melt  with  glad  emotion 

In  the  first  warm  gush  of  humanity. 
And  away  they  throw  the  murderous  steel. 

And  open  their  darkly-fastened  mind. 
And  the  heavenly  teaching  receive  and  feel 

From  the  queenly  Friend  of  human  kind. 


THE    FESTIVAL    OF    ELEUSIS.  109 

From  the  throne  of  his  domain 

Straight  descends  each  helpful  God  ; 
Themis  leads  the  immortal  train, 

In  her  hand  the  righteous  rod  ; 
And  she  metes  to  each  his  right ; 

Plants  herself  the  boundary  stone ; 
And  the  Styx's  mystic  might 

Calls  to  witness  what  is  done. 

From  amidst  the  forge's  blaze 

Comes  the  inventive  son  of  Jove ; 
Founder  he  of  figured  vase, 

Brass  and  clay  his  skill  approve. 
And  how  to  clinch  the  tongs  he  shows, 

To  blow  the  breathing  bellows,  how  ; 
Beneath  his  hammer's  clanging  blows 

First  of  all  comes  forth  the  plough. 

And  Minerva,  high  o'er  all. 

Wields  her  spear  of  ponderous  might. 


110  SCHILLER. 

And  with  her  majestic  call 

Guides  the  heavenly  throng  aright. 

Walls  she  rears  with  deep  foundations, 
For  a  refuge  and  defence, 

To  enclose  the  scattered  nations, 
Bound  in  mutual  confidence. 

As  her  regal  steps  she  bends 

O'er  the  landscape's  ample  rounds, 
Closely  at  her  side  attends 

Terminus,  the  God  of  Bounds. 
And  the  chain's  dividing  thread 

Round  the  hills'  green  skirts  she  throws, 
And  the  torrent's  wildest  bed 

Girds  within  the  sacred  close. 

All  the  nymphs  of  cliff  and  fountain. 

Who  Diana's  bidding  hear. 
Following  her  through  grove  and  mountain, 

Brandishing  their  hunting-spear,  — 


THE    FESTIVAL    OF    ELEUSIS.  Ill 

All  are  coming,  all  uniting 

In  the  work  ;  their  shouts  resound, 

And  before  their  axes'  smiting 

Crash  the  pine  woods  to  the  ground. 

From  his  mossy  source  remote 

Rousing  him,  the  sedge-crowned  God 
Rolls  the  heavy  raft  afloat 

At  the  Goddess'  potent  nod. 
Kirtled  high,  and  light  for  duty, 

Fly  the  Hours,  an  eager  band. 
And  the  rough  trunks  grow  to  beauty, 

Rounded  by  their  busy  hand. 

And  the  Sea-God  hastens  on  ; 

With  his  trident's  rapid  shock, 
From  the  ribbed  earth's  skeleton 

Breaks  he  loose  the  granite  block. 
And  his  giant  arms  in  air 

Toss  it  lightly  as  a  ball ; 


112  SCHILLER. 

Then,  with  Hermes'  skilful  care, 
Ramparts  he  the  well-fenced  wall. 

And  from  out  his  golden  strings 

Phoebus  draws  sweet  harmony, 
Time's  delightful  measurings. 

And  the  might  of  melody  ; 
While  the  Muses'  nine-tongued  choir 

Blend  their  voices'  magic  tone, 
Till  at  sound  of  voice  and  lyre 

Stone  in  concert  moves  to  stone. 

Folding  gates  with  leaves  so  vast 

Hangs  the  experienced  Cybele ; 
And  she  fits  them  iron-fast 

With  the  lock's  strong  ministry. 
Quick  the  wonder-pile  's  complete, 

Built  by  nimble  hands  divine; 
And,  for  pomp  of  worship  meet. 

Bright  the  Temple's  glories  shine. 


THE     FESTIVAL    OF    ELEUSIS.  113 

With  a  myrtle  crown  again 

Comes  the  Queen  of  Gods  to  bless  ; 
And  she  leads  the  comeliest  swain 

To  the  loveliest  shepherdess. 
Venus  with  her  beauteous  boy 

Decks,  herself,  the  youthful  pair ; 
All  the  Gods  bring  gifts  of  joy, 

Blessing  the  first-wedded  there. 

Ushered  by  that  troop  immortal, 

Now  the  new-made  People  throng 
Guest-like  through  the  open  portal, 

Music  charming  them  along. 
Ceres  at  the  altar  stands, 

And  the  priestly  offering  pays. 
Blessing  with  her  folded  hands  ; 

Then  to  all  aloud  she  says :  — 

"  Freedom  is  the  beasts'  wild  pleasure  ; 
Free  the  God  in  ether  reigns  ; 


114  SCHILLER. 

Their  fixed  nature  is  the  measure 
That  their  fiery  wills  restrains. 

Less  than  Gods,  —  of  brutes  the  betters,  — 
Men  with  men  close-bound  should  be  ; 

Only  as  their  Duty's  debtors 

Are  they  strong,  or  are  they  free." 

Eend  to  a  garland  the  gold  wheat-ear, 

Weave  with  its  kernels  its  flower's  *  blue  dye ; 
Joy  from  all  faces  be  beaming  clear, 

For  the  Queen  herself,  the  Queen  draws  nigh. 
She  who  has  given  us  home  and  brother, 

Making  man  with  his  fellow  consent ! 
To  her,  the  all-propitious  Mother, 

The  song  of  our  ceaseless  praise  be  sent ! 

*  The  Cyane. 


THE    FL0WER8.  115 


THE     FLOWERS. 

Children  of  the  Sun's  new  splendor^ 

Flowers  of  the  enamelled  Earth, 
Born  fresh  gifts  and  joys  to  render, 

Nature  loved  you  at  your  birth  ! 
Broidered  rays,  a  robe,  surround  you, 
Flora  has  with  beauty  crowned  you, 

Heavenly  pomp  of  colors  bright. 
Spring-born  !  weep  for  one  thing  wanted  ; 
Soul  the  Goddess  has  not  granted ; 

For  yourselves  you  dwell  in  night. 

Nightingale  and  lark  are  singing 
To  you  love's  delicious  haps  ; 

Tricksy  Sylphids,  too,  are  flinging 
Rival  forms  into  your  laps. 


116  SCHILLER. 

When  Dione's  daughter  moulded 
Your  arched  cups,  she  surely  folded 

Love's  own  swelling  pillow  there. 
Mourn,  ye  Spring-born,  that  for  ever 
Love  and  you  are  doomed  to  sever, 

And  its  bliss  you  cannot  share ! 

But  when  mother-words,  stern  spoken, 

Banish  me  from  Nannie's  view. 
And  as  tender  pledge  and  token 

I  am  seeking,  gathering  you,  — 
Then  life,  speech,  heart,  soul-expression, 
Heralds  dumb  of  sour-sweet  passion, 

Through  you  pours  this  touch  of  mine ; 
And  the  Chief  of  heavenly  powers 
In  your  silent  leaves,  ye  flowers, 

Wraps  his  energy  divine. 


A   DITHYRAMB.  117 


A    DITHYRAMB. 

Never,  believe  me, 
Appear  the  Divine  Ones, 
Never  alone. 
Scarce  have  I  Bacchus,  the  wakener  of  joy, 
But  Love  is  there  also,  the  laughing  young  boy  ; 
Phoebus  the  Lordly  consents  to  make  one. 
They  're  coming,  they  're  near  us. 

The  Deities  all, 
With  Gods  is  now  filling 
The  poor,  earthly  hall. 

Say,  how  can  I  take. 
Child  of  the  earth  here. 
Guests  from  on  high  ? 
Grant  me,  like  you,  ye  Gods,  deathless  to  live ! 


118  SCHILLER. 

What  offering  for  you  hath  a  mortal  to  give  ? 
Up  to  Olympus  O  help  me  to  fly ! 
Joy  dwells  only 

Where  Deities  sup. 
O  fill  me  the  nectar ! 
O  reach  me  the  cup ! 

Reach  him  the  cup ! 
Pour  for  the  bard, 
Hebe,  pour  free ! 
Sprinkle  his  eyesight  with  heaven's  bedewing. 
That  the   Styx,  the  detested,  he  may  not  be 
viewing. 
But  one  of  ourselves  may  suppose  him  to  be ! 
It  gushes,  it  sparkles. 

The  fount  of  the  skies  ! 
How  peaceful  the  bosom ! 
How  radiant  the  eyes ! 


SAYINGS    OF    CONFUCIUS.  119 

SAYINGS  OF  CONFUCIUS. 

I. 

The  steps  of  Time  have  a  threefold  gait :  — 

Loitering  slow,  the  Future  advances ; 

Arrow-swift  by,  the  Present  glances ; 
Ever  the  Past  holds  its  fixed  estate. 
No  impatient  thought  can  wing  it. 

When  its  lingering  feet  delay ; 
Fear  nor  doubt  to  pause  can  bring  it, 

As  it  speeds  away,  —  away ; 
Nor  magic  charm,  nor  guilt's  distress. 
Avails  to  move  the  Motionless. 

Wouldst  thou  with  the  blest  and  wise 

End  the  course  that  before  thee  lies  ? 

Let  the  Loiterer  counsel  read. 

But  ne'er  be  partner  to  thy  deed ; 

Do  not  a  friend  with  the  Flying  one  go, 

Nor  make  the  Unchangeable  one  thy  foe. 


120  SCHILLER. 

II. 

Threefold  is  the  form  of  Space. 
Length  sets  on  with  steady  race, 
Restless  far  and  forward  leading ; 
Boundless,  Breadth  is  each  side  spreading ; 
Fathomless  does  Depth  descend. 

These  are  emblems  to  thee  granted. 
Forward  still  must  thou  undaunted, 
Never  tired  or  standing  still, 
Wouldst  thou  thy  true  end  fulfil ; 
Must  thyself  in  Breadth  unfold, 
Wouldst  thou  the  world's  image  hold ; 
Into  Depth  must  see  to  go, 
If  Existence  thou  wouldst  know. 
Wouldst  reach  the  goal,  then  persevere; 
Only  in  Fulness  art  thou  clear ; 
Only  low  down  will  Truth  appear. 


HERDER 


ODE  TO  THE  HEBREW  PROPHETS. 

PREFIXED     TO     THE     THIRD      VOLUME     OF     EICIIHORX'S     INTRO- 
DUCTION  TO    THE   OLD   TESTAMENT. 

O  TRUSTY  ones  of  God  I  I  bend  and  greet  you. 
Rest  ye  at  last  within  your  grove  of  palms, 
A  rest  which  Horeb,  Zion,  Carmel,  gave  not? 
How  do  your  early  times  stand  debtors  to  you  I 
For  laws,  religion,  morals,  sacred  hopes, 
The  weal  of  states,  the  precepts  of  the  wise. 
All  flowed  like  blessed  fountains  from  your  lips. 
For  yours  were  noble  spirits,  that  soared  up 
Beyond  the  sluggish  present,  and  the  dreams 


122  HERDER. 

Of  a  subjected  and  a  doting  people, 
Above  each  common  joy,  each  fond  illusion, 
And  back  and  forward  saw  the  light  of  ages. 
Far  onward,  far  behind,  that  light  was  beaming, 
And  your  souls  felt  it  like  the  fire  of  heaven. 
Long  burned  the  flame  in  still  obscurity. 
Then   shone   to   illume   the   course   of  days   yet 
distant. 

In  holy  shades  of  solitude  ye  listened 
In  rapt  obedience  to  the  unearthly  voice, 
Which  at  the  midnight  or  the  dawning  hour 
Stole  o'er  the  heart  and  waked  its  finest  chords. 
Now  softly  fell  the  tones  like  showers  in  Spring ; 
Now  swept  like  tempests  o'er  a  slumbering  world. 
As  if  the  thousand  voices  of  the  past 
And  of  all  coming  times  were  mingling  there. 

Ye  true  and  pure  of  soul !  again  I  greet  you ; 
Ye  harp-strings  in  the  hands  of  Deity : 


ODE  TO  THE  HEBREW  PROPHETS.      123 

Interpreters  of  Heaven ;  life  of  the  laws ; 
And  heralds  of  events  that  yet  appeared  not! 
O  thou  of  Sinai,  who  midst  cloud  and  storm, 
Leaving    the   world   and  thy  dark  age  beneath 

thee, 
Didst  look  upon  that  splendor  which  now  spreads 
Its  glories  round  the  earth,  and  on  the  form 
Of  wisdom  decked  with  pomp  and  bright  with 

wonders! 
Thou  soul  of  flame  which  snatched  from  heaven 

its  fires. 
And  from  the  realm  of  shades  the  widow's  son ! 
Thou  who  didst  see  Jehovah  on  his  throne, 
With  all  the  glittering  train  that  filled  his  temple ! 
Ye  mournful  ones,  who  sang  but  to  lament. 
And  poured  in  tears  your  gentle  hearts  away ! 
And  ye,  who  in  the  evening  of  the  prophets 
Saw  through  the  twilight  dusky  forms  advance ! 
Ye  all,  who,  now  to  happier  regions  risen, 
Your  labors  ceased  and  every  conflict  ended. 


124  HERDER. 

Roam  through  your  grove  of  palms,  and  taste  of 

rest,  — 
A  rest  which  Horeb,  Zion,  Carmel,  gave  not  I 

What  do  I  see?  Who  join  themselves  to  these 
So  brotherly  ?     The  wise  of  other  nations  ? 
Yes,  the  select  of  God  through  all  the  world ; 
The  noble  company  of  Druid  sages  ; 
Plato  and  Orpheus  and  Pythagoras  ; 
All  who  were  e'er  the  fathers  of  the  people 
And  guardians  of  the  laws  ;  who  faithfully 
Bowed  a  pure  ear  to  catch  the  voice  of  Heaven, 
Gave  a  pure  heart  to  feel  its  inspiration. 


RUCKERT 


THE     DYING    FLOWER 

Hope  !  Thou  yet  shalt  live  to  see 
Vernal  sun  and  vernal  air ; 
Such  the  hope  of  every  tree 
Stript  by  Autumn's  tempests  bare. 
Hidden  in  their  quiet  strength, 
Winter-long  their  germs  repose, 
Till  the  sap  starts  fresh  at  length. 
And  the  new-born  verdure  grows. 

"  Ah  !  no  mighty  tree  am  I, 
That  a  thousand  summers  lives, 


126  RUCKERT. 

And,  its  winter  dream  gone  by, 
Spring-like  green  and  gladness  gives. 
I  am  but  an  humble  flower 
Wakened  by  the  kiss  of  May  ; 
There  is  left  no  trace  of  power, 
As  shrouded  white  I  drop  away." 

Since  thou  then  a  floweret  art, 
Modest  child  of  gentle  kin, 
Hear  thou  this,  and  so  take  heart :  — 
Every  plant  has  seed  within. 
Be  it  that  the  wind  of  death 
Scatters  thee  with  blast  and  cold  ; 
Still  thou  'It  breathe  in  other's  breath. 
Thus  renewed  a  hundredfold. 

"  Yes,  as  I  shall  but  have  been, 
Others  like  me  soon  shall  be ; 
Endless  is  the  general  green,  — 
Single  leaves  die  presently. 


I 


THE    DYING    FLOWER. 

Be  they  all  I  used  to  show ;  — 
I  can  be  myself  no  more  ; 
All  my  being  lives  in  noiv, 
Naught  behind  and  naught  before. 

"  Though  the  sun,  that  warms  me  yet, 
Dart  through  them  his  glances  bright ; 
That  soothes  not  the  fate  that  's  set. 
Dooming  me  to  endless  night. 
Sun  !  already  them  that  follow 
Folio  west  thou  with  glowing  eye ; 
Mock  me  not  with  that  dim,  hollow. 
Frosty  glance  from  clouded  sky  I 

"  Woe 's  me,  that  I  felt  thy  blaze 
Kindling- me  to  my  short  day  ! 
That  I  met  thy  ardent  gaze 
Till  it  stole  my  life  away ! 
What  of  that  poor  life  remains 
From  thy  pity  I  '11  withhold  ; 


127 


128  RUCKERT. 

I  '11  avoid  thee,  —  and  my  pains 
Close  in  my  closed  self  upfold. 

"  Yet  these  icy  thoughts  relent, 

Melted  by  thee  to  a  tear  ;  — 

Take,  O  take  my  breath  that 's  spent, 

Everlasting,  to  thy  sphere  ! 

Yes  :  thou  sunnest  all  the  sorrow 

Out  from  my  dark  heart  at  last ; 

Dying,  all  I  had  to  borrow 

I  thank  thee  for,  —  now  all  is  past. 

"  For  every  gentle  note  of  Spring  ; 
Each  Summer's  gale  I  trembled  to  ; 
Each  golden  insect's  dancing  wing, 
That  gayly  round  my  leaflets  flew ; 
For  eyes  that  sparkled  at  my  hues ; 
For  hearts  that  blest  my  fragrancy  ;  — 
Made  but  of  tints  and  odorous  dews, 
Maker,  I  still  give  thanks  to  thee. 


I 


THE    DYING    FLOWER.  129 

"  Of  thy  world  an  ornament, 
Though  a  trifling  and  a  poor, 
I  to  grace  the  fields  was  sent, 
As  stars  bedeck  their  higher  floor. 
One  gasp  have  I  left  me  still, 
And  no  sigh  shall  that  be  found ; 
One  look  yet  to  heaven's  high  hill 
And  the  beauteous  world  around. 

"  Let  me  towards  thee  pour  my  soul. 
Fire-heart  of  this  lower  sphere  ! 
Heaven  !  thine  azure  tent  unroll ;  — 
Mine,  once  green,  hangs  wrinkled  here. 
Hail,  O  Spring,  thy  beaming  eye  ! 
Hail,  O  Morn,  thy  wooing  breath  ! 
Without  complaint  in  death  I  lie, 
If  without  hope  to  rise  from  death." 


130  RUCKERT. 


STRUNG    PEARLS. 

'T  IS  true,  the  breath  of  sighs  throws  mist  upon  a 

mirror ; 
But  yet,  through  breath  of  sighs  the  soul's  clear 

glass  grows  clearer. 
From  God  there  is  no  flight,  but  only  to  Him. 

Daring 
Protects  not  when  He  frowns,  but  the  child's  filial 

bearing. 
The  father  feels  the  blow  when  he  corrects  his  son ; 
But  when  thy  heart  is  loose,  rigor 's  a  kindness 

done. 
A  father  should  to  God  pray,  each  new  day  at 

latest, 
"  Lord,  teach  me  how  to  use  the  power  thou  dele- 

gatest ! " 
O  look,  whene'er  the  world  thy  senses  would  be- 
tray. 


STRUNG    PEARLS.  131 

Up  to  the  steady  heavens,  where  the  stars  never 

stray. 
The  sun  and  moon  take  turns,  and  each  to  each 

gives  place ; 
Else  were  e'en  their  wide  house  but  a  too  narrow 

space. 
When  thy  weak  heart  is  tossed  with  passion's  fiery 

gust, 
Say  to  it,  "  Knowest  thou  how  soon  thou  shalt  be 

dust?" 
Say  to   thy  foe,  "  Is  death  not  common  to  us 

twain  ? 
Come  then,  death-kinsman  mine,   and   we  '11  be 

friends  again." 
Much  rather  than  the  spots  upon  the  Sun's  broad 

light, 
Would  Love  spy  out  the   Stars  scarce  twinkling 

through  the  night. 
Thou  none  the  better   art   for   seeking  what  to 
blame. 


132  RUCKERT. 

And  ne'er  wilt  famous  be  by  blasting  others'  fame. 

The  name  alone  remains  when  all  beside  is  reft ; 

O  leave,  then,  to  the  dead  that  little  which  is  left  ! 

Repentance  can  avail  from  God's  rebuke  to  save  ; 

But  men  will  ne'er  forget  thine  errors  in  thy  grave. 

Be  good,  and  fear  for  naught  that  slanderous 
speech  endangers  ; 

Who  bears  no  sin  himself  affords  to  bear  a  stran- 
ger's. 

Say  to  thy  pride,  "  'T  is  all  but  ashes  for  the  urn ; 

Come,  let  us  own  our  dust,  before  to  dust  we  turn." 

Be  yielding  to  thy  foe,  and  peace  shall  he  yield 
back ; 

But  yield  not  to  thyself,  and  thou  'rt  on  victory's 
track. 

Who  is  thy  deadliest  foe  ?  —  An  evil  heart's  desire, 

Which  hates  thee  still  the  worse,  as  thy  weak  love 
mounts  higher. 

Know'st  thou  where  neither  lords  nor  wretched 
serfs  appear  ? 


STRUNG    PEARLS.  133 

Where  one  the  other  serves,  for  each  to  each  is 

dear. 
Thou  'It   ne'er  arrive   at   love,  while   still  to  life 

thou  'It  cling ; 
I  'm  found  but  at  the  cost  of  thy  self-offering. 
According   as   thou   wouldst  receive,  thou  must 

impart ; 
Must  wholly  give  a  life,  to  wholly  have  a  heart. 
Till  thought  of  thine  own  worth  far  buried  from 

thee  lies, 
How  know  I  that  indeed  viy  worth 's  before  thine 

eyes? 
What  more  says  he  that  speaks,  than   he   who 

holds  his  peace  ? 
Yet  woe  betide  the  heart  that  from  thy  praise  can 

cease  ! 
Say  I,  "In  thee  lam"?  — Say  I,  "  Thou  art  in 

me"?  — 
Thou  art  what  in  me  is  ;  —  what  I  am  is  through 

thee. 


134 


RUCKERT. 


0  sun,  I  am  thy  beam ;  O  rose,  I  am  thy  scent ; 

1  am  thy  drop,  O  sea  ;  thy  breath,  O  firmament ! 
Unmeasured    mystery !    what    not  the    heavens 

contain 
Will  here  be  held  in  this  small  heart  and  narrow- 
brain. 
Of  that  tree  I'm   a   leaf,  which   ever   new  doth 

sprout ; 
Hail  me !  my  stock  remains  though  winds  toss  me 

about. 
Destruction  blows  on  thee,  while  thou  alone  dost 

stay; 
O  feel  thee  in  that  whole  which  ne'er  shall  pass 

away ! 
How  great  soe'er  thyself,  thou'rt  naught  before 

the  All ; 
But,  as  a  member  there,  important  though  most 

small.  , 

The  little  bee  to  fight  doth  like  a  champion  spur, 
Because,  not  for  herself,  she  feels  her  tribe  in  her  ; 


STRUNG    PEARLS.  135 

Because  so  sweet  her  work,  so  sharp  must  be  her 

sting ; 
The  earth  hath  no  delight  unscourged  of  suffering. 
From  the  same  flower  she  sucks  both  food  and 

poison  up ; 
For  death  doth  lurk  alway  in  life's  delicious  cup. 
The  mulberry-leaf  must  bear  the  biting  of  a  worm, 
That  so  it  may  be  raised  to  wear  its  silken  form. 
See,  how  along  the  ground  the  ant-hosts  blindly 

throng  I 
Yet  no  more  than  the  choirs  of  stars  can  these  go 

wrong. 
Toward  setting  sun  the  lark  floats  on  in  jubilee  ; 
Frisking    in    light,   the   gnat   to   himself   makes 

melody. 
Sundown  ;  —  the  lark's  note  melts  into  the  air  of 

even ; 
To  earth  she  falls  not  back ;  her  grave  is  in  the 

heaven. 
When  twilight  fades,  steal  forth  the  constellations 

bright ; 


136  RUCKERT. 

Below,  't  is  Day  that  lives,  —  in  upper   air,  the 

Night. 
The  powerful  sun  to  earth  the  fainting  spirit  beats, 
Which  mounts  again  on  night's  sweet  breath  of 

violets. 
Through  heaven,  the  livelong  night,  I  'm  floating 

in  my  dreams, 
And  when  I  rouse,  my  room  a  scanty  limit  seems. 
Wake  up!    The  sun  presents  an  image  in  his 

rays. 
How  man  can  shine  at  morn  to  his   Creator's 

praise. 
Cups  of  all  various  hues  do  the  new  wine  contain. 
With  which  King  Spring  comes  forth  to  feast  his 

courtier  train. 
The  Lily  with  seven  tongues  her  conscious  bravery 

shows ; 
With   bud-lips    half-way  open,  silent  stands   the 

Rose. 
The  Tulip-bed  doth  reel,  drunk  with  its  beauty's 

fame ; 


STRUNG  PEARLS.  137 

Who  cares  to  count  each  spark,  when  Love  is  all 

in  flame  ?  — 
Narcissus,  turning  to  thee  the  star  of  her  golden 

eye, 
Says  :  "  As  I  towards  the  light,  look  thou  towards 

God  on  high." 
The  flowers  all  tell  to  thee  a  sacred,  mystic  story. 
How   moistened   earthy  dust   can  wear  celestial 

glory. 
On  thousand  stems  is  found  the  love-inscription 

graven  : 
"  How   beautiful   is   earth,   when   it   can    image 

heaven  I  " 
Wouldst  thou  first  pause  to  thank  thy  God   for 

every  pleasure. 
For  mourning  over  griefs  thou  wouldst  not  find 

the  leisure. 
O  heart!  but  try  it  once  ;  —  'tis  easy  good  to  be. 
But  to  appear  so,  such  a  strain  and  misery. 
Who  hath  his  day's  work  done,  may  rest  him  as 

he  will ; 


138  RUCKERT. 

O,  quick,  then,  urge  thyself  thy  day's  work  to 
fulfil! 

Of  what  each  one  should  be,  before  him  lies  the 
rule  ; 

Till  he  comes  up  with  that,  his  joy  can  ne'er  be 
full. 

O,  pray  for  life  I  thou  feel'st  that,  with  these  faults 
of  thine, 

Thou  art  not  ready  yet  with  sons  of  God  to  shine. 

From  the  sun's  searching  power  can  vagrant  plan- 
ets rove  ? 

How  then  can  wandering  man  fall  wholly  from 
God's  love  ? 

Still  from  each  circle's  point  to  the  centre  lies  a 
track ; 

And  there 's  a  way  to  God  from  furthest  error  back. 

Whoso  mistakes  me  now,  but  spurs  me  on  to 
make 

My  life  so  speak  henceforth  that  no  one  can  mis- 
take. 


I 


STRUNG    PEARLS.  139 

And  though  throughout  the  world  the  good  I  no- 
where find, 
I  still  have  faith  in  it,  for  its  image  in  my  mind. 
The  heart  that  holds  to  love  is  not  abandoned  yet ; 
The  smallest  fibre  serves  some  root  in  God  to  set. 
So  strong  is  Love's  dear  might,  God  will  himself 

submit, 
And  where  He  is  beloved,  bows  His  own  might  to 

it; 
Yea,  fears  not  lest  through  Love  Himself  should 

stoop  too  low ;  — 
How  should  not  I  the  love  I  find,  in  turn  bestow  ? 
From  the  worse  smart  of  guilt  correction  sets  thee 

free  ; 
Thou  art  not  chastened,  child,  through  wrath,  but 

clemency. 
Since  Love  would  quicken  thee  to  life,  be  like  the 

ground! 
Not  out  of  stubborn  flint  will  Spring's  soft  growths 

be  found. 


140  RUCKERT. 

Because   she   bears  the  pearl,  —  that  makes  the 

oyster  sore ;  — 
Be  thankful  for  the  pain  that  but  exalts  thee  more. 
The  sweetest  fruit  grows  not  when  the  tree's  sap 

is  full ; 
The   Spirit  is  not  ripe  till  meaner  powers  grow 

dull. 
The   air  consumes  itself  in  the   last  love-sigh  it 

gave ; 
To  God's  breath  then  transformed,  it  wakes  life 

from  the  grave. 
Spring  weaves  a  magic  net  of  odors,  colors,  sounds ; 
Come,  Autumn !  free  the  soul  from  these  enchanted 

bounds. 
My  tree  was  thick  with  shade :  O   Blast !  thine 

office  do. 
And  strip  the  foliage  off,  to  let  the  heavens  shine 

through. 
They  're  wholly  blown  away,  bright  blossoms  and 

green  leaves ;  — 


STRUNG    PEARLS. 


141 


They  're  brought  home  to  the  barn,  all  colorless, 

the  sheaves. 
O  Tree  of  Life !  behold,  the  Fall-gale  shakes  thee 

now. 
To  search  if  fruit  is  hid  beneath  thy  well-clothed 

bough. 
Rejoice  thou  at  the  proof,  who  art  not  barren  seen; 
And  shudder  thou,  with  naught  but  that  proud 

leafy  screen. 
The  swallow  leaves  her  nest,  and  seeks  a  warmer 

clime ; 

0  Soul,   soar   thou  up   too!     'T  is   the   Earth's 

Winter-time. 
My  heart  pines  for  that  Spring,  which  dreads  no 

icy  storm ; 
For  the  Rose,  whose  breast  is  stung  by  neither 

thorn  nor  worm. 

1  know  the  Garden  well,  where  all  those  Summers 

stay 
Which  through  these  rolling  zones  such  flying 
visits  pay. 


142  RUCKERT. 

I  know  the  Garden  well,  that  ne'er  its  growths 
denied ; 

Where  all  is  borne  as  fruit,  that  here  as  blossom 
died. 

A  fragment  is  my  song,  and  so  is  that  of  the 
earth, 

Which  hopes  in  a  farther  land  to  find  its  finished 
worth. 

The  Love,  that  high  in  heaven  clusters  the  Plei- 
ades, 

Holds  on  invisible  threads  even  such  Pearls  as 
these. 


A    GAZELLE.  143 


A    GAZELLE.* 

Nightingales  of  Spring  were  singing,  how  long 

ago! 
And  roses  in  the  fields  were  springing,  how  long 

ago! 
The  ruddy  Morn  her  bloody  banners,  every  new 

day, 
Anew  across  the  Earth  was  flinging,  how  long  ago! 
Stars  within  the  concave  heaven,  and  sun  and 

moon, 
Before  men's  eyes  their  course  were  winging,  how 

long  ago ! 
And  to  men's  eyes,  as  to  the  flowers,  has  passing 

time 
Their  opening  and  their  close  been  bringing,  how 

long  ago! 

*  This  name  denotes  merely  a  peculiar  measure  of  yerse. 


144  RUCKERT. 

And  to  the  hearts  of  men,  as  life  swelled  them  with 

breath, 
Came  hope's  delight  and  sorrow's  stinging,  how 

long  ago! 
And   fame  and   lordship  —  soapy  bubbles  in  the 

sun's  blaze  — 
Were  rounding   bright,   asunder   springing,   how 

long  ago! 
And  over  earth's  and  heaven's  limits,  nobly  aloft. 
The  Spirit's  boundless  wish  was  swinging,  how 

long  ago ! 
The  Soul,  that  through  the  soul  of  beauty  hopes 

to  be  free, 
Feels  low  joys  lording  it  and  kinging,  how  long 

ago! 
A  beam   from  heaven  has  smitten  me,  dimming 

the  shine 

Of  all  the  world's  poor  spangle-stringing,  how  long 

ago! 
Lost  to  the  echo  is  the  forum's  noise  in  this  breast, 


QUATRAINS.  145 

Where  thine  all-silent  words  were  ringing,  how 

long  ago! 
No  lure  for  me  have  Fortune's  nets  upon  life's  road ; 
I  rest  among  thine  elf-locks  clinging,  how  long  ago! 


QUATRAINS, 


IN     THE     PEKSIAN     MANNER. 


I. 

O,  BE  in  God's  clear  world  no  dark  and  troubled 
sprite ! 

To  Christ,  thy  master  mild,  do  no  such  foul  de- 
spite ; 

But  show  in  look,  word,  mien,  that  thou  belong' st 
to  him, 

Who  says,  "  My  yoke  is  easy,  and  my  burden 
light." 

10 


146 


RUCKERT. 


II. 

So  long  as  life's  hope-sparkle  glows,  't  is  good ; 
When  death  delivers  from  life's  woes,  't  is  good. 
O  praise  the  Lord,  who  makes  all  good  and  well  I 
Whether  He  life  or  death  bestows,  't  is  good. 

III. 

The  stars  above  me  mount  the  heavens  with  tran- 
quil beam  ; 

So  round  my  couch,  O  Lord,  may  heavenly  ward- 
ers gleam ! 

And  if  my  bolster  be,  like  Jacob's,  a  hard  stone. 

Let  Jacob's  ladder,  too,  be  lifted  in  my  dream ! 

IV. 
There  came  from  heaven  a  flying  turtle-dove. 
And  brought  a  leaf  of  clover  from  above  ; 
He  dropped  it,  —  and  O  happy  they  that  find ! 
The  triple  flower  is  Faith  and  Hope  and  Love. 


«■ 


AL-SIRAT.  147 


AL-SIRAT. 

'TwixT  Time  and  Eternity 
Stands  the  Bridge  of  Doom  ; 

Filling  with  fierce  radiancy 
The  dread  chasm's  gloom. 

Know'st  thou  well,  how  sharp  and  fine 

That  bridge  arches  there? 
Sharp  as  any  sword  its  line, 

Fine  as  any  hair. 

Shall  the  foot  of  man  be  set 

On  a  bridge  so  thin. 
Where  no  room  a  fly  could  get 

To  find  footing  in  ? 


148  RUCKERT. 

He  that  does  not  firmly  dare 

Trust  himself  on  this, 
Must  not  hope  beyond  to  share 

Eden's  dewy  bliss. 

When  the  wicked  o'er  it  goes, 
Stands  the  bridge  all  sparkling ; 

And  his  mind  bewildered  grows. 
And  his  eye  swims  darkling. 

Wakening,  giddying,  then  comes  in. 

With  a  deadly  fright, 
Memory  of  all  his  sin 

Rushing  on  his  sight. 

Underneath  him  gapes  the  chasm;  — 
Conscience,  desperate  grown. 

Drives  him  with  its  maddening  spasm 
To  plunge  headlong  down. 


AL-SIRAT.  149 

But  when  forward  steps  the  just, 

He  is  safe  e'en  here ;  — 
Round  him  gathers  holy  trust, 

And  drives  back  his  fear. 

Hope  is  lifting  up  his  brow, 

Love  is  giving  wings ; 
Faith  is  smiling,  as  he  now 

On  so  happy  springs. 

Each  good  deed 's  a  mist,  that  wide. 

Golden  borders  gets ; 
And  for  him  the  bridge,  each  side, 

Shines  with  parapets. 

Onward  still  his  footsteps  fare. 

And  the  bridge  is  passed. 
As  't  were  built  of  stones  hewn  square, 

Or  of  iron  cast. 


150 


RUCKERT. 

Freimund!*  at  that  pass,  thy  lays 

Thus  around  thee  sweep 
Mistful !  —  that  thou  mayst  not  gaze 

Down  the  dizzy  deep. 

Floating  like  the  morning  wind 

O'er  the  lilies*  bed 
Move,  and  ever  lightly  mind 

On  the  bridge  to  tread. 


THE     VALUE    OF    YEARS. 

Adam  sat  in  Paradise  circled  by  many  a  spirit,  — 
All  souls  of  those,  that,  as  time  flows,  should  come 
this  life  to  inherit. 


*  The  name  which  ROckert  adopted  as  his  noin  de  plume  in  his 
earlier  writings. 


I 


THE    VALUE    OF    YEARS.  151 

God  the  Lord  brought  each  before  the  great  fore- 
father's face, 

That  what  was  written  on  their  fronts  his  prophet 
eye  might  trace. 

Letters  bright  on  every  brow,  drawn  by  the  heav- 
enly finger. 

Showed  the  number  of  the  years  that  each  in  life 
should  linger. 

Adam  said  :   "  Who  is  the  man  that  nobly  now 

advances  ? 
A   minstrel's  fire  is  on   his  lips,   a  seer's  in  his 

glances." 
«  That  is  David,"   said  the  Lord,  "  thy  son,  the 

pious  king ; 
Wondrous   gifts    his   heart   inspire,  that    he    my 

praise  should  sing." 
"  And  but  sixty  years,"  said  Adam,  "  are  to  him 

appointed  ? 
Give  twice  twenty  of  my  thousand  to  thine  own 

anointed  I  " 


152  RUCKERT. 

The  wish  of  our  first  parent  was  answered  :  "  Be 
it  done ; 

And  give  the  years  twice  twenty  to  Jesse's  young- 
est son." 

Adam   far  from    Paradise   his   fallen  years    had 

passed, 
And  the  dread  death-angel  came  to  bury  him  at 

last. 
"  What  wilt  thou  here  ?  "  cried  Adam,  and  with 

angry  eye ; 
"  Forty  of  my  thousand  years  are  due  before  I  die." 
But  the  angel  said  :  "  Not  so  ;  I  come  not  a  day 

too  soon ; 
Forgettest  thou  that  forty  become  King  David's 

boon  ?  " 
'*  Alas ! "  sighed  Adam ;  "  then  I  sat  within  my 

Eden-bowers ;  — 
The  boon  should  not  be  valid  on  the  earth  that 


SOLOMON    AND    THE    SOAVER.  153 

Freimund,    Adam's   son !    reflect,   that    none    in 

Eden's  bliss 
Know  how  much  a  year  is  worth  in  an  earth-lot 

like  this. 


SOLOMON  AND  THE   SOWER. 

In  open  field  King  Solomon 
Beneath  the  sky  sets  up  his  throne ; 
He  sees  a  sower  walking,  sowing. 
On  every  side  the  seed-corn  throwing. 

"  What  dost  thou  there  ?  "  exclaimed  the  king ; 

"  The  ground  here  can  no  harvest  bring. 
Break  off  from  such  unwise  beginning; 
Thou  'It  get  no  crop  that 's  worth  the  winning." 


154 


RUCKERT. 


The  sower  hears  ;  his  arm  he  sinks, 
And  doubtful  he  stands  still,  and  thinks ; 
Then  goes  he  forward,  strong  and  steady, 
For  the  wise  king  this  answer  ready  :  — 

"  I  've  nothing  else  but  this  one  field ; 

I  've  watched  it,  labored  it,  and  tilled. 
What  further  use  of  pausing,  guessing  ? 
The  corn  from  me,  —  from  God  the  blessing." 


FROM  THE   YOUTH-TIME. 

From  my  youthful  day,  from  my  youthful  day. 

Comes  a  song  with  ceaseless  tone  ; 
O  how  far  away,  O  how  far  away, 
What  ivas  my  own  I 


FROM    THE    YOUTH-TIME.  155 

What  the  swallow  sung,  what  the  swallow  sung, 

Bringing  the  harvests  and  the  spring, 
Village  fields  among,  village  fields  among, 
Does  she  still  sing  ?  — 

"  When  I  left  the  plain,  when  I  left  the  plain, 

Heavy  the  bin  and  full  the  stall ; 
When  I  came  again,  when  I  came  again, 
'T  was  empty  all." 

O  mouth  of  childhood  gay  !  mouth  of  childhood 
gay! 
All  unconsciously  wise  one  ! 
You  know  what  the  birds  say,  know  what   the 
birds  say. 
Like  Solomon. 

O  thou  dear  home-floor  I  O  thou  dear  home-floor  ! 

Again  within  thy  sacred  bound 
Let  me  yet  once  more,  let  me  yet  once  more 
In  dreams  be  found ! 


156  RUCKERT. 

When  I  left  the  plain,  when  I  left  the  plain, 
The  Earth  to  me  was  Plenty's  hall ;  — 
When  I  came  again,  when  I  came  again, 
'T  was  empty  all. 

The  swallow  will  come  back ;  the  swallow  will 
come  back  ; 
The  empty  crib  its  store  regains  ;  — 
When  the  heart  comes  to  lack,  when  the   heart 
comes  to  lack, 
Void  it  remains. 

Back  no  swallow  brings,  back  no  swallow  brings, 

What  thou  sighest  for  so  sore  ; 
Yet  the  swallow  sings,  yet  the  swallow  sings, 
Just  as  before  :  — 

"  When  I  left  the  plain,  when  I  left  the  plain. 

Heavy  the  bin  and  full  the  stall ; 
When  I  came  again,  when  I  came  again, 
'T  was  empty  all." 


I 


157 


THE     OLD    MAN'S     SONG. 

FROM   THE    "  OSTLICHEN   ROSEN." 

[The  Song  may  be  sung  to  the  original  music  by  Schubert.  ] 

My  dwelling's  roof  with  service  is  frosted  o'er, 
Yet  warm  are  all  the  chambers,  e'en  as  of  yore. 
My  head  the  Winter  covers,  all  white  and  hoar; 
Yet  through  the  heart's  free  portals  life's  red  tides 
pour. 
The  blooms  of  youth  are  vanished  ; 
The  cheeks'  bright  roses  banished  ; 

One  by  one  they  were  seen  no  more. 
Where  have  they  thus  been  going  ?  — 

To  my  heart's  core. 
There  to  my  wish  they  're  blowing 
Just  as  before. 

The  streams  of  worldly  pleasure,  are  they  all  dry  ? 
Still  one  calm  stream  is  laving  that  inner  shore. 


158 


RUCKERT. 


The  nightingales  of  Summer,  did  they  all  die  ? 
Still  one,  amid  the  silence,  my  thoughts  restore. 
She   sings  :    "  Lord,  close    the    mansion,    I   now 

implore. 
That  the  old  world  intrude  not  within  the  door ! 
Shut  out  the  reeky  breathing  of  things  called  real 
But  give  to  dreams  ideal 
Both  roof  and  floor." 


THE    NOURISHER. 

I  AM  the  Spirit,  that  all  life  do  feed  ; 
Through  all  creation's  realms  I  breathe  and  flow 
With  nurture  manifold ;  —  take  what  you  need  I 
A  poisonous  stream,  I  penetrate  below 
Earth's  rifts  and  chasms ;  thou  stiff  and  shapeless 
ore. 


THE    NOURISHER.  159 

Suck  up   the   damp,   that   thou   to   form    mayst 

grow  I 
A  rushing  spring,  my  stream  I  upwards  pour ; 
O  plant,  that  forth  thy  silent  life  dost  shoot, 
Nor  pained,  nor  glad,  imbibe  thy  vital  store ! 
O  beast,  afoam  with  greed  and  passions  brute, 
Devour  the  spoil  of  the  earth's  stupid  crust, 
Till  thou  thyself  art  stupid  as  thy  fruit ! 
Now  quit  thy   well-gnawed  leaf,  dull  worm,  thou 

must. 
Then  wing  thyself  into  a  butterfly. 
And  drink  in,  dying,  the  pure  blossom-dust ! 

But  Thou,  not  doomed  within  earth's  rounds  to  lie, 
Lift  up  thyself,  O  Human  Countenance, 
And  take  the  spirit-food  that  I  supply  I 
Receive  the  Night's  deep  tone,  the  day's  bright 

glance. 
And  shape  them  in  thyself  to  light  and  song ; 
Through  eye  and  tongue  then  give  them  utterance. 


160  RUCKERT. 

Let  my  air's  breath  within  thee  flo\v  along ! 

Thou  dost  inhale  the  heaven  in  breathing  this, 

And  breathest  back  to  heaven  its  current  strong. 

Thou  sipp'st  my  wine  in  love's  enamored  kiss ; 

And  when  the  exchanging  transport  mingles  souls, 

Each  must  to  each  become  a  food  of  bliss. 

From  earthly  pits  the  tide  of  pleasure  rolls ; 

The  grape's  juice  for  the  noble  banquet  streams. 

And  Inspiration  dipp'st  thou  up  in  bowls. 

More !  From  on  high  come  trembling  down  my 
beams. 

And  kindle  in  thy  thought  its  nourishment. 

With  that  sweet  parch  of  thirst  which  souls  be- 
seems. 

Much  as  thou  drinkest,  more  will  less  content. 

Till  satisfied  is  all  thy  longing  fire, 

By  blending  with  the  Source  from  which  't  was 
sent ; — 

For  death  alone  can  feed  thy  full  desire. 


MOTHER    SUx\.  161 

A     GAZELLE  . 

Life's  ills  end  well  upon  Death's  bed ; 

Yet  Life  shrinks  back  from  Death  with  dread. 

Life  sees  but  the  dark  hand,  and  not 

The  clear  cup  that  it  holds,  instead. 

So  shrinks  the  heart  from  Love  away. 

As  if  't  were  thus  to  ruin  led. 

And  truly  when  Love  fully  wakes. 

The  gloomy  despot  Self  lies  dead. 

So  let  it  perish  in  the  night. 


And  breathe  thou  free  the  morning's  red. 


MOTHER    SUN. 


^^■By  a  singular  anomaly,  the  Sun  is  feminine,  and  the  Moon  mas- 
culine, in  German.  "  Mundilfori  had  two  children  ;  a  son  Mani 
(Moon)  and  a  daughter  Sol  (Sun),"  says  the  Prose  Edda. 

The  Mother  Sun  is  heard, — 
A  sunbeam  every  word,  — 
11 


162  RUCKERT. 

To  her  little  children  speaking  : 
"  What  would  ye  now  be  seeking  ? 

"  Why  in  such  haste  away 
From  my  warm  breast  to  stray  ? 
For  scarcely  can  my  glances 
Reach  you  in  your  wide  dances. 

"  My  youngster,  Mercury,  fleet 
With  wings  upon  thy  feet ! 
Of  all  my  seven  thou  fliest 
Still  to  thy  mother  nighest. 

"  Thy  form  thou  dippest  quite 
Beneath  my  flood  of  light ; 
And  they  who  move  remotest 
Scarce  spy  thee  where  thou  floatest. 

"  My  Venus,  maiden  fair ! 
Of  curly  gold  thy  hair  ; 


MOTHER    SUN.  163 


( 


With  rays  the  world  adorning, 
At  even  and  at  morning. 

"  O  Jupiter  and  Mars, 
Kingly  and  warrior  stars  ! 
What  pomp  ye  bear  before  ye, 
Equipped  in  burning  glory  ! 

"  Saturn  and  Uranus  ! 
Ye  cause  a  pain  to  us, 
That,  last  in  our  bright  order, 
Ye  choose  the  outmost  border. 

"  O  Earth,  my  darling  child  ! 
From  out  thy  bosom  mild 
Thou  bringest  the  subjection 
That  best  meets  my  affection 

"  Not  too  far,  —  not  too  nigh,  - 
The  apple  of  my  eye  ! 


164  RUCKERT. 

Of  all  my  looks,  the  clearest 
Rest  on  thy  face,  my  clearest ! 

"  Forth  from  the  beams  I  spread 
Thou  weav'st  the  morning's  red  ; 
How  rich  the  purple  binding 
Around  thy  tresses  winding  ! 

"  Then  from  the  cloud's  thin  lawn 
Thy  silver  veil  is  drawn  ; 
The  rainbow,  sevenfold  splendid. 
For  thy  robe's  hem  is  bended. 

"  Thy  diligence  I  see  ; 
How,  as  a  gift  for  me. 
Thou  broiderest  and  paintest. 
Cheering  my  eye  when  faintest. 

"  My  single  golden  ray 

How  hast  thou  found  the  way 


MOTHER    SUN.  165 


So  many  hues  to  furnish, 
Thy  tapestries  to  burnish  ? 

"  And  all  thy  flowers,  in  pride, 
Ruby  and  sapphire  dyed. 
Soon  as  my  warmth  I  proffer. 
Their  kindled  incense  offer. 

"  Thou  mak'st  the  drops  of  dew 
A  rustic  mirror  true  ; 
My  image  there  appearing, 
In  tints  of  richest  wearing. 

"  With  thousand  eyes  new-born 
Thou  art  awake  at  morn. 
And  from  mine  eyes  derivest 
The  light  by  which  thou  livest. 

"  Then  postest  thou  at  night 
The  moon  upon  his  height ; 


166  RUCKERT. 

He  is  thine  own  creation, 
Thy  choice  his  warder- station. 

"  He  watches  in  his  place, 
Still  fixed  on  mine  his  face  ; 
His  flag  for  thee  erected. 
His  beams  from  me  reflected. 

"  Another  child  is  brought 
Forth  from  thine  earnest  thought. 
Which  in  thy  bosom  ponders. 
And  looks  at  me,  and  wonders. 

"  When  he  has  sought  thee  out, 
With  spirit  keen  and  stout. 
And  me,  too,  studied  throughly,  — 
Then  all  will  finish  duly. 

"  Then  wilt  thou  flash  out  free 
Thine  inward  radiancy, — 


MOTHER    SUN.  167 

The  lightning-thought  all  burning, 
Each  gloomy  barrier  spurning. 

"  So  onward  think  and  fare :  — 
And  all  you  others  there, 
Swing  round  me  in  glad  measures, 
And  please  me  with  your  pleasures. 

"  You  cannot  from  me  part, 
Whatever  way  you  start ; 
My  gold  cord  holds  you,  rangers, 
And  keeps  you  from  all  dangers. 

"  And  when  ye  have  attained 
Whereto  ye  were  ordained. 
Come  to  this  breast  of  fire. 
And  buried  there  expire." 


168  RUCKERT. 


BETHLEHEM  AND  GOLGOTHA. 

In  Bethlehem  He  first  arose, 

From  whom  we  draw  our  true  life's  breath ; 

And  Golgotha  at  last  He  chose, 

Where  his  cross  broke  the  power  of  death. 

I  wandered  from  the  Western  strand. 

Through  strange  scenes  of  the  Morning  Land ; 

But  naught  so  great  did  I  survey 

As  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

The  ancient  wonders  of  the  world 

Here  rose  aloft,  —  the  mighty  Seven;  — 
How  was  their  transient  glory  hurled 
To  earth  before  the  might  of  Heaven  I 
In  passing,  I  could  see  and  tell 
How  all  their  pride  to  ruin  fell ; 
There  stood  in  quiet  Gloria 
But  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 


BETHLEHEM  AND  GOLGOTHA.        169 

Cease,  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  cease! 

The  toil  that  built  you  never  gave 

The  faintest  thought  of  Death's  great  peace,  — 

'T  was  but  the  darkness  of  a  grave. 

Ye  Sphinxes,  in  colossal  stone  ! 

The  riddle  Life  an  unread  one 

Ye  left ;  —  the  answer  found  its  way 

Through  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

O  Rocknabad,  earth's  Paradise, 

Of  all  Shiraz  the  sweetest  flower  ! 
Ye  Indian  sea-coasts,  breathing  spice, 
Where  groves  of  palms  in  beauty  tower;  — 
I  see  o'er  all  your  sunny  plains 
The  step  of  Death  leave  sable  stains. 
Look  up !     There  comes  a  deathless  ray 
From  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

Thou  Caaba !  black  stone  of  the  waste. 
At  which  the  feet  of  half  our  line 


170  RUCKERT. 

Yet  stumble.     Stand,  now,  proudly  braced 
Beneath  thy  crescent's  wanuig  shine  ! 
The  moon  before  the  sun  grows  dim ;  — 
Thou  art  shattered  by  the  sign  of  Him, 
The  conquering  Prince.     "  Victoria!  " 
Shout  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

O  Thou,  who  in  a  shepherd-stable 
An  infant  willingly  hast  lain. 
And  through  the  cross's  pain  wert  able 
To  give  the  victory  over  pain  ! 
To  pride  the  manger  seems  disgrace  ; 
The  cross  a  vile,  unworthy  place  ;  — 
But  what  shall  bring  this  pride  down  ?    Say  ! 
'Tis  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

The  Magi  kings  went  forth  to  see 

The  Shepherd  Stock,  the  Paschal  Lamb  ; 
And  to  the  cross  on  Calvary 
The  pilgrimage  of  nations  came. 


BETHLEHEM  AND  GOLGOTHA.        171 

Amidst  the  battle's  stormy  toss, 
All  flew  to  splinters  —  but  the  Cross  ; 
As  East  and  West  encamping  lay 
Round  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

O,  march  we  not  in  martial  band, 

But  with  the  Spirit's  flag  unfurled  I 

Let  us  subdue  the  Holy  Land 

As  Christ  himself  subdued  the  world. 

Let  beams  of  light  on  every  side 

Fly,  like  Apostles,  far  and  wide, 

Till  all  men  catch  the  beams  that  play 

O'er  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

With  pilgrim  staff  and  scallop-shell 

Through  Eastern  climes  I  sought  to  roam ; 
This  counsel  have  I  found  to  tell, 
Brought  from  my  travels  to  my  home  :  — 
With  staff*  and  scallop  do  not  crave 
To  see  Christ's  cradle  and  his  grave. 


172  RUCKERT. 

Turn  inward !  there  in  clearest  day 
View  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 

O  heart !  what  helps  it,  that  the  knee 
Upon  His  natal  spot  is  bended  ? 
What  helps  it,  reverently  to  see 
The  grave  from  which  He  soon  ascended  ? 
Let  Him  within  thee  find  his  birth  ; 
And  do  thou  die  to  things  of  earth, 
And  live  Him ;  —  let  this  be  for  aye 
Thy  Bethlehem  and  Golgotha. 


THE     EVENING    SONG 

On  a  hill-side  I  stood, 

As  the  sun  was  near  its  set : 

And  saw  how  o'er  the  wood 
Hung  Evening's  golden  net. 


I 


THE    EVENING    SONG.  173 

The  cloud  of  heaven  fell 

In  dew  upon  Earth's  calm  breast  ; 
At  sound  of  the  vesper  bell 

All  nature  sunk  to  rest. 

I  said  :  "  Now  share,  O  heart, 

Creation's  kind  release ; 
Take,  as  its  child,  thy  part, 

And  lull  thyself  to  peace. 

"  The  flowers,  with  weary  look. 

Their  eyes  are  shutting  slow, 
And  every  running  brook 

Is  softened  in  its  flow. 

"l;'The  o'er-tired  moth,  close  by, 

Under  the  leaf  would  creep  ; 
In  the  sedge  the  dragon-fly 

Drops  all  bedewed  asleep. 


174  RUCKERT. 

"  The  golden  beetle  makes 
His  cradle  in  the  rose  ; 

The  shepherd's  flock  now  seeks 
The  fold  for  its  repose. 

"  The  skylark  in  the  clover 
Her  damp  nest  stoops  to  find ; 

Beneath  the  forest  cover 

Lie  down  the  hart  and  hind. 

"  If  but  a  hut 's  his  own, 

Man  rests  him  there  from  pain ; 

And  though  from  it  far  and  lone, 
In  dreams  he  's  back  again. 

"  There  seizes  me  a  passion 
Of  longing  and  regret ; 

That  I  reach  no  such  station,  — 
No  home  of  the  soul  as  yet.' 


MIDNIGHT.  175 


MIDNIGHT 

At  still  midnight 
I  raise  my  sight 
To  gaze  upon  the  sky. 
No  star  of  all  on  high 
Is  shining  bright, 
At  still  midnight. 

At  still  midnight 
My  thoughts  invite 
A  look  into  the  dark. 
I  see  no  cheerful  spark 
Of  mental  light 
At  still  midnight. 

At  still  midnight 
I  do  not  slight 


176 


RUCKERT. 


The  measured  beats  of  my  heart  ; 
One  single  pulse  of  smart 
Throbs  full  and  tight 
At  still  midnight. 

At  still  midnight 
I  fight  the  fight 
Of  all  thy  woes,  O  man  ! 
But  settle  it  ne'er  can, 
With  all  my  might. 
At  still  midnight. 

At  still  midnight 
I  yield  up  quite 
To  Thee  the  whole  control, 
O  ruling  Hand  and  Soul 
Thou  watchest  right 
At  still  midnight. 


SICILIAN.  177 


SICILIAN. 


Lov'sT  thou  for  Beauty? 

O  love  not  me  ! 

Love  thou  the  Sun  then  ; 

His  locks  all  gold  appear. 
Lov'st  thou  for  Youth  ? 

O  love  not  me ! 

Love  then  the  Spring, 

That 's  youthful  every  year. 
Lov'st  thou  for  Riches  ? 

O  love  not  me ! 

Love  the  mermaiden, 

With  wealth  of  pearls  so  clear. 
Lov'st  thou  for  Love's  sake  ? 

O  yes,  love  me  ! 

Love  me  for  ever, 

To  me  for  ever  dear. 

12 


178  RUCKERT. 


FROM 

"LOVE'S     SPRING." 

I. 

Thy  love  o'er  my  life  stole  on, 

As  the  breath  of  the  Spring  first  blows  ;  - 
When  the  Winter  is  scarce  yet  gone. 
Earth  heeds  not  how  warm  it  grows. 

But  the  Sun  its  sly  power  will  shoot, 
And  reaches  her  heart  e'en  now ; 
And  the  sap  is  astir  at  the  root. 
Long  before  it  is  seen  in  the  bough. 

The  snow  melts,  the  clouds  pass  away, 
The  bud  of  the  year  is  begun  ; 
Then  she  stands  in  the  full-glowing  ray, 
And  wonders  how  all  was  done. 

II. 

O,  Love  is  higher  than  what  thou  lovest ; 
And  though  she  may  seem  of  Earth, 


179 


And  be  named  however  thou  most  approvest, 
She  is  one,  and  of  heavenly  birth. 

As  when,  under  shifted  masks'  disguises, 
In  halls  where  the  lamps  burn  bright. 
One  darling  in  many  shapes  tantalizes. 
Till  unveiled  at  last  to  sight ;  — 

So  loved  I  this,  and  then  that,  most  dearly, 
As  the  changing  fancy  might  bid  ; 
At  last  they  were  all  masks  merely. 
Underneath  which  Love  was  hid. 

III. 

Tell  me  naught  of  Paradise  ; 

'T  is  too  large  for  me  ; 
I  have  rather  chosen  this 

Close  felicity. 
Tell  me  naught  of  Paradise  ; 

'Tis  too  far  for  me  ; 
I  have  rather  chosen  this 


Near  felicity. 


180  RUCKERT. 

My  beloved's  bower,  —  O  this 

Near  felicity 
Lies  with  all  its  Eden  bliss 

Never  too  far  to  see  I 
My  beloved's  bower,  —  O  this 

Close  felicity 
Holds  for  me  nine  paradises, 

That  wide  as  heaven  be  I 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES, 


LULLABIES   FOR   MY  LITTLE  SISTER. 


FOR    CHRISTMAS,    1S13. 


Once,  Songs  as  Lullabies  to  thee  I  sung ; 

To  sleep  has  sung  thee  now  an  angel's  tongue. 

But  to  awake  above,  art  thou  here  fallen  asleep  ; 
Farewell !  Thou  art  in  Port,  we  on  the  stormy  Deep. 

St.  John's  Day,  1835. 


I. 


OF     THE     LITTLE     BOY,     THAT     WISHED     TO     HAVE 
SOMEBODY    CARRY    HIM    EVERYWHERE. 

Only  think  !  a  little  boy  one  day- 
Went  out  in  the  meadow  grounds  to  stray  ; 
But  there  he  grew  tired  sore, 
And  said  :  "  I  can  bear  no  more  ; 
Would  but  something  come  near, 
And  take  me  from  here  I  " 

Now  a  little  brook  came  flowing  on, 
And  took  up  the  little  boy  anon ; 
And  on  the  brook  he  sits  with  joy ; 
"  I  am  well  off  here,"  says  the  little  boy. 


184  RUCKERT. 

But  what's  the  matter  ?     The  stream  was  cold, 
And  this  full  soon  to  his  cost  was  told. 

It  began  to  freeze  him  sore, 

And  he  said:  "  I  can  bear  no  more  ; 

Would  but  something  come  near, 

And  take  me  from  here  I  " 

Then  a  little  ship  came  sailing  on. 

And  took  up  the  little  boy  anon  ; 

As  in  the  ship  he  sits  with  joy, 

"  I  am  well  off  here,"  says  the  little  boy. 

But  do  you  see  ?  the  vessel  was  small ; 

The  little  boy  thinks,  "  I  shall  presently  fall." 

He  begins  to  tremble  sore. 

And  says  :  "  I  can  bear  no  more  ; 

Would  but  something  come  near 

And  take  me  from  here  !  " 

And  now  a  snail  comes  creeping  on. 
And  takes  up  the  little  boy  anon  ; 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  185 

In  the  snail's  round  house  he  sits  with  joy ; 
"  I  am  well  off  here,"  says  the  little  boy. 

But  think  !  the  snail  is  no  good  steed, 
And  her  steps  were  very  slow  indeed. 

He  begins  to  fidget  sore, 

And  says :  "  I  can  bear  no  more  ; 

Would  but  something  come  near 

And  take  me  from  here  I  " 

And  behold !  a  horseman  came  galloping  on, 
And  took  up  the  little  boy  anon  ; 
As  behind  the  rider  he  sat  with  joy, 
"  I  am  well  off  here,"  said  the  little  boy. 

But  look  I  like  the  wind  he  scoured  along.* 
For  the  little  boy  it  was  quite  too  strong ; 

He  was  bumped  about,  galled  sore, 

And  said :  "  I  can  bear  no  more  ; 

Would  but  something  come  near, 

And  take  me  from  here  I " 


186  RUCKERT. 

At  last,  a  tree  that  was  standing  there 
Caught  up  the  little  boy  by  the  hair  ; 
High  he  swings  at  the  end  of  the  bough, 
And  there  the  poor  fellow  is  kicking  now. 

The  child  asks  : 
"  Did  the  boy  die  then  ?  " 
Answer : 
"  No  ;  he  is  kicking  still ! 
To-morrow  let's  go  and  take  him  down." 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  187 


11. 


OF    THE    LITTLE    TREE    THAT    WANTED    TO    HAVE 
OTHER    LEAVES. 

A  LITTLE  tree  stood  up  in  the  wood, 

In  bright  and  dirty  weather ; 
And  nothing  but  needles  it  had  for  leaves, 

From  top  to  bottom  together. 
The  needles  stuck  about. 
And  the  little  tree  spoke  out:  — 

"  My  companions  all  have  leaves 

Beautiful  to  see. 
While  I've  nothing  but  these  needles; — 

No  one  touches  me. 
Might  I  have  my  fortune  told, 
All  my  leaves  should  be  pure  gold." 


188  RUCKERT. 

The  little  tree  's  asleep  by  dark, 

Awake  by  earliest  light ; 
And  now  its  golden  leaves  you  mark ;  — 

There  was  a  sight ! 
The  little  tree  says  :  "  Now  I  'm  set  high ; 
No  tree  in  the  wood  has  gold  leaves  but  I." 

But  now  again  the  night  came  back  ; 

Through  the  forest  there  walked  a  Jew, 
With  great  thick  beard  and  great  thick  sack, 

And  soon  the  gold  leaves  did  view. 
He  pockets  them  all,  and  away  does  fare. 
Leaving  the  little  tree  quite  bare. 

The  little  tree  speaks  up  distressed : 
"  Those  golden  leaves  how  I  lament ! 

I  'm  quite  ashamed  before  the  rest, 
Such  lovely  dress  to  them  is  lent. 

Might  I  bring  one  more  wish  to  pass, 

I  would  have  my  leaves  of  the  clearest  glass.' 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  189 

The  little  tree  sleeps  again  at  dark, 

And  wakes  with  the  early  light. 
And  now  its  glass  leaves  you  may  mark ;  — 

There  was  a  sight ! 
The  little  tree  says :  "  Now  I  'm  right  glad, 
No  tree  in  the  wood  is  so  brightly  clad." 

There  came  up  now  a  mighty  blast. 

And  a  furious  gale  it  blew ; 
It  swept  among  the  trees  full  fast. 

And  on  the  glass  leaves  it  flew. 
There  lay  the  leaves  of  glass 
All  shivered  on  the  grass. 

The  little  tree  complains : 

"  My  glass  lies  on  the  gi'ound ; 
Each  other  tree  remains 

With  its  green  dress  all  round. 
Might  I  but  have  my  wish  once  more, 
I  would  have  of  those  good  green  leaves  good  store." 


190  RUCKERT. 

Again  asleep  is  the  little  tree, 
And  early  wakes  to  the  light ; 

He  is  covered  with  green  leaves  fair  to  see, 
He  laughs  outright ; 

And  says  :  "  I  am  now  all  nicely  drest. 

Nor  need  be  ashamed  before  the  rest." 

And  now,  with  udders  full, 
Forth  a  wild  she-goat  sprung. 

Seeking  for  herbs  to  pull. 
To  feed  her  young. 

She  sees  the  leaves,  nor  makes  much  talk, 

But  strips  all  clear  to  the  very  stalk. 

The  little  tree  again  is  bare, 

And  thus  to  himself  he  said :  » 

"  No  longer  for  any  leaves  I  care. 

Whether  green,  or  yellow,  or  red. 
If  I  had  but  my  needles  again, 
I  would  never  more  scold  or  complain." 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  191 

The  little  tree  slept  sad  that  night, 

And  sadly  opened  his  eye ;  — 
He  sees  himself  in  the  sun's  first  light. 

And  laughs  as  he  would  die. 
And  all  the  trees  in  a  roar  burst  out ; 
But  the  little  tree  little  cared  for  their  flout. 

What  made  the  little  tree  laugh  like  mad  ? 

And  what  set  the  rest  in  a  roar  ? 
In  a  single  night  soon  back  he  had 

Every  needle  he  had  before. 
And  everybody  may  see  them  such ; 
Go  out  and  look,  —  but  do  not  touch. 

Why  not,  I  pray  ? 
They  prick,  some  say. 


192  RUCKERT. 


III. 


OF  THE  LITTLE  TREE    THAT   WENT  TO  TAKE  A  WALK. 

A  LITTLE  tree  there  stood 
In  a  pleasant  shady  wood. 
Where  many  a  shrub  and  bush 
And  more  small  trees  did  push  ; 
Standing  so  thick  along, 
They  made  a  real  throng. 

The  little  tree  must  need 
Keep  very  close  indeed. 
So  the  little  tree  she  thought,  — 
And  made  it  clear  she  ought,  — 
"  I'll  here  no  longer  stay. 
But  go  elsewhere  away. 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  193 

And  try  some  place  to  reach 
Where  's  neither  birch  nor  beech. 
Where 's  neither  oak  nor  fir, 
Nor  any  the  like  of  her. 
By  myself  will  I  advance, 
And  dance." 

The  little  tree  goes  her  ways, 
And  comes  up  to  a  place 
Upon  an  open  meadow, 
Without  a  tree  to  shadow. 
Here  she  stops  advancing. 
And  has  her  dancing. 

Whatever  meets  her  sight 
Does  the  little  tree  delight. 
The  sweetest  little  spring 
Is  close  by  murmuring. 
Ready  to  cool  her  sweat 
In  Summer's  glowing  heat. 

13 


194  RUCKERT. 

The  beautiful  sunlight 
Is  just  as  ready  quite  ; 
If  the  little  tree  's  a-cold, 
The  sun  warms  up  its  mould. 
And  then  a  pleasant  wind 
Bears  her  a  friendly  mind, 
And  helps  her  with  its  breath, 
While  dancing  on  the  heath. 

The  tree  she  danced  and  sprung 

The  entire  Summer  long ; 

Till  with  jumping  up  and  down 

She  has  wholly  lost  her  crown. 

Her  crown  with  its  leaves  so  small,  — 

From  her  head  she  has  dropped  them  all ; 

On  every  side  they  're  strown, 

And  the  little  tree  has  none. 

Some  in  the  fountain  lay, 

And  some  in  the  sun's  ray ; 

The  rest  of  all  their  kind 

Were  flying  in  the  wind. 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  195 

Cold  is  the  Autumn's  gale, 
And  the  shivering  tree  grows  pale. 
And  she  cries  to  the  spring  below  : 
"  Give  me  my  leaves  here  now, 
That  in  the  Winter  drear 
I  may  have  clothes  to  wear." 
The  fountain  said :  "  No  more 
Can  I  the  leaves  restore  ; 
I  drank  them  all  quite  up. 
They  are  sunk  down  in  my  cup." 

She  turned  from  the  fount  her  cry, 

And  called  to  the  sun  on  high  : 

"  Give  me  my  leaves  back,  you, 

For  I  'm  freezing  through  and  through." 

And  the  sun  replied :  "  No  more 

Can  I  the  leaves  restore  ; 

They  crisped  up  long  ago 

Within  my  hot  hands'  glow." 


196  RUCKERT. 

Then  the  little  tree  in  haste 

Cried  to  the  wind  that  passed  : 

"  Give  me  my  leaves  again, 

Or  I  sink  upon  the  plain." 

And  the  Wind  replied  :  "  No  more 

Can  I  the  leaves  restore. 

Over  the  hills  they  've  flown, 

Upon  my  swift  v^ings  blown." 

Then  the  little  tree  spoke  low  : 

"  Now  what  I  '11  do  I  know. 

'T  is  too  cold  here  to  stay  ; 

I  '11  to  the  wood  away, 

And  under  hedge  and  bough 

Will  find  a  screen  somehow." 

The  little  tree  pauses  not. 
But  sets  off  at  a  round  trot ; 
For  the  wood  she  scuds  along, 
To  take  place  among  the  throng. 
She  asks  the  first  tree  there  : 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  197 

"  Have  you  any  room  to  spare  ?  " 
The  answer  is  :  "  Not  I." 
Then  another  will  she  try. 
But  that  again  has  none ;  — 
So  she  goes  to  another  one. 
All  round  she  makes  her  race, 
But  there  's  not  a  single  space. 
Whilst  it  was  pleasant  Summer, 
There  was  room  for  no  new-comer  ; 
Now,  in  the  Winter  weather, 
They  cuddled  more  together. 
She  found  it  all  in  vain  ;  — 
No  foothold  could  she  gain. 

So  on  she  sadly  goes. 
And  cold,  for  she  had  no  clothes  ; 
And  as  off  the  poor  thing  packs, 
There  comes  a  man  with  an  axe, 
Rubbing  his  hands,  and  shaking. 
As  if  with  the  cold  he  was  aching. 


198  RUCKERT, 

Thinks  quite  bold  the  little  tree  : 

"  'T  is  a  woodcutter,  I  see. 

He  '11  best  cure  me,  if  he  will, 

Of  this  dreadful,  frosty  chill." 

To  bring  the  thing  to  an  end. 

She  cries  to  the  woodman  :  "  Friend, 

It  pinches  thee  as  me  ; 

It  pinches  me  as  thee  ; 

Thou  canst  be  help  of  mine  ; 

I  can  be  help  of  thine. 

Come,  cut  me  down, 

And  take  me  to  town  ; 

And  kindle  a  fire. 

That  I  can  raise  higher ; 

So  thou  warmest  me, 

And  I  thee." 

The  woodcutter  thought  the  plan  not  bad. 
And  quick  to  his  axe  recourse  he  had. 
At  the  root  the  axe  he  plies, 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  199 

And  root  and  branch  soon  down  she  lies. 
And  he  saws,  and  he  splits, 
And  he  carries  home  the  bits  ; 
And  now  and  then  a  billet 
Puts  under  pot  or  skillet. 

The  largest  stick  of  all 

Happens  our  way  to  fall. 

The  cook  its  chips  shall  bring, 

And  on  the  embers  fling  ; 

And  for  a  week  entire 

They  '11  make  for  our  soup  the  fire. 

Porridge !  you  say. 
Well,  have  your  way. 


200  RIJCKERT. 


IV. 


THE    MUSICIAN. 


The  player  tunes  his  kit ; 

To  it  says  he  : 
"  Thou  must  show  thy  skill  a  bit ; 
Come,  go  with  me." 
Before  a  castle  he  goes  to  play  ; 
'Tis  night,  and  the  player  fiddles  away. 
The  player  says  :  "  I  will  not  give  o'er ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

Before  the  castle  a  garden  lies, 

With  trees  and  plants. 
They  must  have  seen  with  some  surprise 
Their  time  to  dance. 
The  player  before  the  castle  will  play, 
And  the  trees  set  out  to  dance  away. 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  201 

The  player  says  :  "  I  will  not  give  o'er ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

The  garden  doth  contain  a  lake, 

And  fish  within  ; 
And  they  too  hear  the  fiddle's  shake, 
And  to  frisk  begin. 
The  player  before  the  castle  will  play. 
And  the  trees  and  the  fishes  caper  away. 
The  player  says  :  ''  I  will  not  give  o'er ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

Within  the  castle  there  are  some  mice ; 

He  fiddles  yet ; 
And  the  little  fellows  hear  in  a  trice. 
And  up  they  get. 
The  player  before  the  castle  will  play  ; 
Trees,  fishes,  and  mice  are  dancing  away. 
The  player  says :  "  I  will  not  give  o'er  ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 


202 


RUCKERT. 


Within  the  castle  are  bench  and  table ; 

They  're  waking  up ; 
They  hobble  along  as  well  as  they  're  able, 
And  join  the  troop. 
The  player  before  the  castle  will  play ; 
Trees,  fish,  mice,  benches,  are  dancing  away. 
The  player  says :  "  I  will  not  give  o'er ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

"  Are  there,  then,  here  no  men  at  all  ?  " 

The  player  cries  ; 
"  I  am  playing  to  nothing  but  the  bare  wall ; 
They  don't  open  their  eyes. 
Trees,  fish,  mice,  benches,  are  dancing  free ; 
Will  they  not  come  out  of  their  castle  to  me  ?  " 
The  player  says  :  "  I  will  not  give  o'er ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

The  castle  at  that  begins  to  feel 
Alive ; 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  203 

And  all  on  end  to  that  wild  reel 
Will  drive. 
The  player  fiddles,  the  castle  jumps, 
But  the  men  sleep  on,  nor  will  stir  their  stumps. 
The  player  says  :  "  I  will  not  give  o'er  ; 
I  must  still  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

And  the  castle  jumps  till  it  flies  apart 

With  a  crack ; 
And  the  men  in  bed  at  last  hear,  and  start, 
And  wake. 
They  hear  the  musician  at  his  play, 
And  dance  with  the  rest,  as  brisk  as  they. 
The  player  says  :  "  I  will  now  give  o'er  ;  — 
Yet  still  will  I  fiddle  one  stroke  more." 

And  why  so  ? 
For  the  little  man  in  the  goose. 
And  must  he  dance  as  loose  ? 

You  '11  soon  know. 


204  RLJCKERT. 


THE    LITTLE    MAN    IN    THE    GOOSE. 

The  little  man  went  out  to  walk  one  day 

Upon  the  roof.     Take  care  ! 
The  roof  is  narrow,  the  little  man  gay ;  — 

He  '11  surely  fall  off  there. 
Before  he  thinks,  down  he  comes  by  a  blunder. 
But  breaks  not  his  neck,  and  that  is  a  wonder. 

Under  the  roof  stood  a  washing-tub  ; 

There  he  soused  out  of  sight. 
It  will  take  to  dry  him  many  a  rub  ;  — 

Ah  !  served  him  right. 
Now  the  goose  comes  running  up, 
And  swallows  the  little  man  at  a  sup. 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  205 

The  goose  has  gobbled  the  mannikin, 
For  her  stomach  was  large  to  hold ; 

But  the  mannikin  pinched  her  well  within, 
That  must  be  told. 

The  goose  sets  up  great  lamentation. 

And  causes  the  cook-maid  great  vexation. 

Cook  takes  to  her  knife  the  whetter, 

For  else  it  would  not  cut : 
"  This  goose  cries  so,  we  had  better 

Bring  it  across  her  throat. 
We '11  kill  her,  I  believe. 
For  a  roast  on  Christmas  Eve." 

The  goose  is  plucked  and  drawn  by  the  cook, 

And  roast ; 
But  the  little  man  dared  not  take  a  look. 

Thou  know'st. 
The  goose  was  really  cooked  to  a  charm  ; 
And  what  after  this  can  the  little  man  harm  ? 


206 


RUCKERT. 


On  Christmas  Eve  comes  to  table  the  goose 

In  a  pannikin. 
The  father  carves  for  present  use. 

—  And  the  mannikin  ?  — 
When  the  goose  was  fairly  divided, 
The  little  man  creep  out  at  the  side  did. 

The  father  springs  from  the  table  apace,  — 

Leaves  his  empty  chair  afar  ;  — 
The  little  man,  quietly  taking  his  place. 
Carries  into  the  goose  the  war. 

Quoth  he :  "  You  have  me  devoured  ; 
Now  here  's  for  you,  you  coward." 

So  the  little  man  eats  with  an  appetite. 

As  if  he  alone  were  seven  ; 
And  we  all  fall  on,  as  if  in  spite. 

To  be  with  the  little  man  even  ; 
Till  nothing  is  left  of  the  goose  but  his  mittens. 
And  they  shall  be  left  for  the  sport  of  the  kittens. 


FIVE    LITTLE    STORIES.  207 

The  mouse  nothing  won, 
And  the  story  is  done. 

"  What 's  all  you  've  said,  I  pray  ?  " 
"  Jests  for  Christmas  holiday ; 

At  New  Year  thou  learnest  —  " 
«  Well,  say ! " 

"  To  be  IN    EARNEST." 


1835. 

Early  wert  thou  into  the  school  of  days 

Sent,  and  hast  through  it  passed,  and  gained  thy  praise. 

Young,  —  but  each  trial  hast  thou  so  withstood. 
Thou  art  now  called  out,  for  further  progress  good. 

High  mind,  but  never  proud  !  Low  heart,  but  never  mean 
Those  prizes  bright  on  thy  pure  breast  were  seen. 

Long  after  us  thou  hast  the  course  begun  ; 
But,  all  unlocked  for,  now  the  start  hast  won. 

The  height  is  reached  thou  early  wouldst  attain. 
While  we  on  these  low  forms  must  still  remain. 

A  sign  that  we  not  yet  enough  have  learned. 

To  join  those  classes  where  thy  praise  was  earned. 


UHLAND 


KING   CHARLES'S   VOYAGE. 

King  Charles,  with  his  twelve  peers  so  brave, 

For  Holy  Land  was  bound  ; 
The  bark  was  pitching  on  the  wave. 

The  storm  was  raging  round. 

Then  spoke  the  eager  knight  Roland  : 

"  I  can  both  fend  and  hit ; 
But  winds  and  billows  to  withstand. 

This  art  is  poorly  fit." 

14 


210  UHLAND. 

And  spoke  Sir  Holgar,  —  he  the  Dane : 
"  I  skill  to  play  the  harp  ; 

But  what  boots  that  ?     'T  is  all  in  vain, 
When  blast  and  surge  drive  sharp." 

He  eyed  his  steel  with  saddened  air, 

The  brave  Sir  Olivier  : 
"  It  is  not  for  myself  I  care 

As  for  the  Altaclear."  * 

These  words  the  subtle  Ganelon 
Half  smothered  in  his  breast  : 

"  Were  some  way  out  to  ine  but  shown, 
The  Devil  might  take  the  rest." 


*  The  heroes  of  romance  were  accustomed  to  give  names  to  their 
swords.  That  of  Rinaldo  was  Fusberta.  Every  reader  of  Ariosto  is 
familiar  with  the  Durindana  of  Orlando,  or  Eoland.  Sir  Otuel  laid 
about  him  with  Corrouge.  King  Arthur's  magic  blade  was  Escali- 
bore.  Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton  rejoiced  in  his  Morglay.  Char- 
lemagne called  his  sword  "  La  Joyeuse."  —  Translatok. 


KING  Charles's  voyage.  211 

Archbishop  Turpin  sorely  sighed  : 

"  O  sinful  men  are  we ! 
Come,  dearest  Saviour,  o'er  the  tide, 

And  lead  us  safe  and  free." 

Count  Richard  up,  and  undismayed  : 
"  Ye  spirits  damned  from  hell ! 

Many  's  the  service  to  you  I  've  paid ;  — 
Now  turn  and  serve  me  well." 

Then  spoke  Sir  Naimis :  "  Many  a  wight 
I  've  counselled  well  and  clear  ; 

But  good  sweet  water,  and  counsel  bright, 
At  sea  are  rather  dear." 

Said  Sir  Kiol,  with  locks  all  gray : 

"  An  old  sword-blade  am  I, 
And  frankly  would  my  body  lay 

At  last  in  ground  that 's  dry." 


212  UHLAND. 

It  was  Sir  Guy,  a  gentle  knight, 
Who  thus  began  to  sing  : 

"  O  if  I  were  a  bird,  my  flight 
Swift  to  my  love  I  'd  wing  ! " 

Out  spoke  the  noble  Count  Garein : 
"  God  help  us  now,  and  keep  I 

Much  rather  would  I  drink  red  wine, 
Than  water  from  the  deep." 

Sir  Lambert  cried,  a  gay  gallant : 
"  Let  Heaven  still  helpful  be  ! 

I  'd  rather  eat  a  good  fish,  I  grant, 
Than  have  the  fish  eat  me." 

Sir  Godfrey,  that  great  Paladin, 

Said  :   "  Come  what  may  befall ! 

No  other  lot  will  for  me  have  been, 
Than  for  my  brothers  all." 


213 


King  Charles  at  the  helm  sat  firm  and  still ; 

No  word  he  turned  to  say  ;  — 
But  steered  with  constant  hand  and  will, 

Till  the  storm  had  lulled  away. 


BARON  VON  ZEDLITZ 


THE  NIGHT  REVIEW. 

At  midnight  hour  the  drummer 
Gets  up  from  his  grave  so  low  ; 
With  his  drum  his  round  he  marches, 
Goes  brisldy  to  and  fro. 

With  his  fleshless  arms  the  drumsticks 
He  plies  in  measure  true  ; 
Strikes  many  a  rapid  roll-call, 
Reveille  and  tattoo. 


THE    NIGHT    REVIEW.  215 

The  drum  sounds  strange  and  ghostly, 
It  has  a  mighty  beat ; 
The  slain  and  mouldering  soldiers 
Rise  at  it  on  their  feet. 

And  they  in  frosts  of  Russia, 

All  stiff  with  ice  and  storm  ; 

And  they  that  lie  in  Italy, 

Where  they  find  the  earth  too  warm  ; 

They  whom  the  Nile  mud  covers. 

And  the  Arabian  sand. 

They  stalk  out  from  their  charnels, 

And  muskets  take  in  hand. 

*  *  *  * 

At  midnight  hour  the  cornet 
Gets  up  from  his  grave  so  low ; 
He  peals  into  his  trumpet, 
And  rides  forth  to  and  fro. 


216  BARON    VON    ZEDLITZ. 

Then  on  their  airy  horses 
Come  the  dead  riders  old, 
The  bloody  veteran  squadrons, 
With  weapons  manifold. 

The  whitened  skulls  are  grinning, 
Beneath  the  helms  they  wear  ; 
And  skeleton  the  fingers 
That  the  long  sabres  bear. 

*  *  *  * 

At  midnight  hour  the  chieftain 
Gets  up  from  his  grave  so  low  ; 
By  all  his  staff  attended. 
He  comes  forth  riding  slow. 

He  wears  a  little  hat, 
And  a  coat  quite  plain  has  on, 
And  slender  is  the  sword 
That  at  his  side  hangs  down. 


THE    NIGHT    REVIEW.  217 

The  morn  with  yellow  lustre 
O'er  all  the  broad  field  shines  ; 
The  man  with  the  little  hat 
Looks  down  along  the  lines. 

The  ranks  present  their  muskets,  — 
Then  shoulder,  —  then  away. 
With  drum  and  clarion  sounding, 
Sweeps  on  the  whole  array. 

The  generals  and  marshals 
Stand  round  in  circle  near ; 
The  chief  speaks  to  the  nearest 
One  low  word  hi  his  ear. 

The  word  goes  round  that  circle, 
Then  echoes  far  and  wide  ; 
"  France  !"  is  the  watchword  given,  — 
''  St.  Helena !  "  replied. 


218  BARON    VON    ZEDLITZ. 

*  This  is  the  grand  parade 
In  the  Elysian  field, 
That,  as  twelve  o'clock  is  striking. 
Is  by  dead  Caesar  held. 


COUNT    VON    AUERSPERG, 


UNDER  THE   NAME   OF 


ANASTASIUS     GRUN. 


THE   LAST   POET. 

"  When  will  you  bards  be  weary 
Of  rhyming  on?     How  long 

Ere  it  is  sung  and  ended, 
The  old  eternal  song? 

"  Is  it  not  long  since  empty,  — 
The  horn  of  full  supply  ; 

And  all  the  posies  gathered. 

And  all  the  fountains  dry  ?  " 


220  COUNT    VON    AUERSPERG. 

As  long  as  the  Sun's  chariot 
Shall  keep  its  azure  track, 

And  but  one  human  visage 

Give  answering  glances  back  ; 

As  long  as  skies  shall  nourish 
The  thunderbolt  and  gale, 

And,  frightened  at  their  fury. 

One  throbbing  heart  shall  quail  ; 

As  .ong  as  after  tempest 

Shall  spring  one  showery  bow, 
One  breast  with  peaceful  promise 

Of  reconcilement  glow ; 

As  long  as  Night  the  concave 
Sows  with  her  starry  seed, 

And  but  one  man  those  letters 
Of  golden  writ  can  read  ; 


THE    LAST    POET.  221 

Long  as  a  moonbeam  glimmers, 

Or  bosom  sighs  a  vow  ; 
Long  as  the  wood-leaves  rustle, 

To  cool  a  weary  brow ; 

As  long  as  roses  blossom. 

And  earth  is  green  in  May ; 
As  long  as  eyes  shall  sparkle 

And  smile  in  Pleasure's  ray  ; 

As  long  as  cypress-shadows 

The  graves  more  mournful  make, 

Or  one  cheek  's  wet  with  weeping, 
Or  one  poor  heart  can  break ;  — 

So  long  on  earth  shall  wander 

The  Goddess  Poesy  ; 
And  with  her  one,  exulting 

Her  votarist  to  be. 


222  COUNT    VON    AUERSPERG. 

And  singing  on,  triumph'ing, 

The  old  earth -mansion  through. 

Out  marches  the  last  minstrel ;  — 
He  is  the  last  man  too. 

The  Lord  holds  the  creation 

Forth  in  his  hand  meanwhile, 

Like  a  fresh  flower  just  opened, 
And  views  it  with  a  smile. 

When  once  this  Flower- Giant 
Begins  to  show  decay, 

And  earths  and  suns  are  flying 
Like  blossom-dust  away,  — 

Then  ask,  —  if  of  the  question 
Not  weary  yet,  —  how  long 

Ere  it  is  sung  and  ended. 
The  old  eternal  song  I 


223 


MEN'S    TEARS 


Maiden,  didst  thou  see  me  weeping  ?  — 
Ah  !  methinks  that  woman's  tear 

Is  like  the  soft  dew  out  of  heaven, 

That  in  the  flower-cup  glitters  clear. 

If  the  troubled  Night  hath  wept  it^ 
Or  the  smiling  Morning  shed, 

Still  the  dew  the  flower  refreshes, 
And  renewed  it  lifts  its  head. 

But  the  tear  of  man  resembles 

Precious  gum  from  Eastern  tree  ; 

In  the  very  heart  deep  hidden. 

Seldom  starting  quick  and  free. 


224  COUNT    VON    AUERSPERG. 

Through  the  bark  thou  must  cut  sharply. 
To  the  pith  the  steel  must  go ; 

Then  the  pure  and  noble  moisture, 
Bright  and  golden,  trickles  slow. 

Soon,  indeed,  is  dried  its  fountain, 
And  the  tree  fresh  foliage  gains, 

And  yet  shall  welcome  many  a  Summer ; 
But  the  cut,  the  scar,  remains. 

Maiden,  think  of  that  tree  wounded, 

Where  its  growths  the  Orient  rears  ; 

Maiden,  of  that  man  bethink  thee 

Whom  thine  eyes  have  seen  in  tears. 


ORIGINAL    PIECES 


15 


HYMNS 


I. 


rOR    THE    ORDINATION    OF   MR.    WILLIAM    P.    LUNT,    AT 
NEW   YORK,   JUNE  19,  1828. 

O  GoDj  whose  presence  glows  in  all 

Within,  around  us,  and  above  ; 
Thy  Word  we  bless,  thy  Name  we  call. 

Whose  Word  is  Truth,  whose  Name  is  Love. 

That  Truth  be  with  the  heart  believed 
Of  all  who  seek  this  sacred  place  ! 

With  power  proclaimed,  in  peace  received. 
Our  spirit's  light,  thy  Spirit's  grace  I 


228 


HYMNS. 


That  Love  its  holy  influence  pour, 
To  keep  us  meek,  and  make  us  free, 

And  throw  its  binding  blessing  more 
Round  each  with  all,  and  all  with  Thee  I 

Direct  and  guard  the  youthful  strength 
Devoted  to  thy  Son  this  day  ; 

And  give  thy  word  full  course  at  length 
O'er  man's  defects  and  time's  decay. 

Send  down  its  angel  to  our  side ! 

Send  in  its  calm  upon  the  breast ! 
For  we  would  know  no  other  guide 

And  we  can  need  no  other  rest. 


HYMNS.  229 


11. 


FOR    THE    INSTALLATION    OF    REV.    WILLIAM    P.    LUNT, 
AT    QUINCY,   MASS.,    JUNE    3,    1835.* 

We  meditate  the  day 

Of  triumph  and  of  rest, 
When,  shown  of  God  and  shaped  in  clay, 

The  Word  was  manifest. 

The  angels  saw  and  sung ; 

Earth  listened  far  and  wide  ; 
Believed  and  preached,  —  a  faith,  a  tongue, — 

The  Word  was  glorified. 

Lord !  give  it  gracious  sweep, 

And  here  its  errand  bless. 
Whose  mercy  sent  it  o'er  the  deep, 

To  glad  the  wilderness. 

*  The  sermon  was  on  the  manifestation  of  Christ. 


230  HYMNS. 

Shoot  forth  its  starry  *  light 

To  guide  our  pilgrim  way  ; 

A  sigQ  of  hope  through  this  world's  night, 
And  brighter  than  its  day. 

Again  thy  witness-voice  ! 

Again  thy  Spirit-Dove  !  * 
That  hearts  may  in  its  trust  rejoice, 

And  soften  with  its  love. 

Send  round  its  blessed  cup,* 

As  once  in  Galilee  ; 
And  catch  our  dull  affections  up 

To  heaven,  and  Christ,  and  Thee. 


*  One  of  three  ancient  symbols  in  the  Church  of  Christ's  manifes- 
tation to  the  Gentiles. 


HYMNS.  231 


III. 


FOR    THE    ORDIXATIOX    OF   31E.    HENRY    AV.  IJELLOWS,  AT 
NEW   YORK,   1839. 

O  Lord  of  life,  and  truth,  and  grace. 

Ere  nature  was  begun  ! 

Make  welcome  to  our  erring  race 

Thy  Spirit  and  thy  Son. 

We  hail  the  Church,  built  high  o'er  all 
The  heathens'  rage  and  scofl"; 

Thy  providence  its  fenced  wall, 

"  The  Lamb  the  light  thereof." 

Thy  Christ  hath  reached  his  heavenly  seat 
Through  sorrows  and  through  scars ; 

The  golden  lamps  are  at  his  feet, 
And  in  his  hand  the  stars.* 

*Rev.  ii.  1. 


232 


HYMNS. 

O,  may  he  walk  among  us  here, 
With  his  rebuke  and  love,  — 

A  brightness  o'er  this  lower  sphere, 
A  ray  from  worlds  above  ! 

Teach  thou  thy  youthful  servant,  Lord  I 
The  mysteries  he  reveals, 

That  reverence  may  receive  the  word, 
And  meekness  loose  the  seals.   . 


IV. 


FOR  THE  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION  OF  THE  ALUMNI 
OF  HARVARD  COLLEGE,  AUGUST  23,  1842. 

The  hands  of  twice  a  hundred  years 
Point  each  one  to  its  Class  ;  — 

Their  eyes  behold,  through  joy  and  tears, 
Each  brief  procession  pass. 


HYMNS. 


233 


We  praise  the  Immortal  Providence, 
That  early  watched  and  late  ; 

That  kindled  light,  and  spread  defence, 
And  made  the  small  one  great. 

We  bless  this  Fountain's  earliest  rill 

Of  piety  and  lore  ; 
We  bless  the  streams  that  gladden  still 

The  land  they  fed  before. 

With  joy  we  greet  this  throng  of  sons, 

As  to  a  Mother  led  ; 
And  think  of  all  our  noble  ones, — 

The  absent  and  the  dead. 

Look  on  us,  Lord !  before  whose  sight 

The  ages  are  a  day ; 
Reveal  to  us  thy  tokens  bright. 

And  cheer  with  steady  ray. 


234  HYMNS. 

Thy  blessing  meet  this  gathered  band, 

Its  aged  and  its  youth ! 
Be  Worth  and  Wisdom  on  each  hand, 

And  overhead  the  Truth. 

Thy  blessing  guide  the  lengthening  line, 
That  hence  shall  fruitful  run  ! 

The  fruit  be  as  of  Sorek's  vine  ; 
The  line  as  of  the  Sun  ! 


V. 


FOR    THE    ORDINATION    OF    MR.  RUFUS    ELLIS,  AT  NORTH- 
AMPTON, JUNE    7,    1843. 

Thine,  Lord,  these  heavens  on  high. 

And  thine  this  earth  around  ; 
Thy  goodness  travels  through  the  sky, 
And  blossoms  from  the  ground. 


HYMNS.  235 

Thine  too  the  human  soul, 

With  heights  and  breadths  unknown  ; 
The  rays  and  drops  at  thy  control, 

And  seed  and  sod  thine  own. 

But  man  must  watch  and  toil 

For  fruits  that  thrive  below  ; 
And  dress  and  keep  that  dearer  soil 

Whence  life  or  death  shall  grow. 

Sow  here  the  Gospel  Word, 

And  heavenly  influence  send, 

And  teach  us  all  as  servants,  Lord, 
To  labor  and  depend. 

An  earnest  purpose  grant. 

And  give  the  work  success ; 
And  O,  may  Grace  and  Duty  plant 

A  field  that  Thou  wilt  bless  I 


236  HYMNS. 


VI. 


FOR  THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  NEW  HOUSE  OF  WOE- 
SHIP  BUILT  BY  THE  PROPRIETOBS  OF  THE  SECOND 
CHURCH  IN   BOSTON,    SEPTEMBER    17,    1845. 

Thy  way  is  in  unbounded  space, 
In  air,  and  earth,  and  sea;  — 

Thy  way  is  in  the  Holy  Place 

That  man  doth  build  to  Thee. 

The  soul  thy  temple  is,  O  Lord, 
And  thy  true  service  pays  ;  — 

Yet  here  dost  Thou  thy  name  record, 
And  here  accept  our  praise.    • 

To  us,  as  to  thy  prophet,  deign 
To  speak  thy  word  and  will ; 

And  let  the  glory  of  thy  train 
This  house  of  worship  fill. 


HYIMNS.  '  237 

The  vision  on  his  eye  that  broke 

Here  pour  upon  the  soul ;  — 
Thy  people's  prayer  the  censer's  smoke, 

Thy  love  the  altar's  coal. 

And  when  to  Thee  they  humbly  cry, 

Or  gratefully  confess, 
O  hear  them  in  thy  dwelling  high, 

And  when  Thou  hearest,  bless  ! 


VII. 

FOR  THE  INSTALLATION  OF  REV.  DAVID  FOSDICK,  AS 
MINISTER  OF  THE  HOLLIS  STREET  SOCIETY,  BOSTON, 
MARCH   3,    1846. 

The  patriarch's  dove,  on  weary  wing, 

One  leaf  of  olive  found. 
Within  the  narrow  ark  to  bring. 

When  all  the  earth  was  drowned. 


238  HYMNS. 

The  dove  of  God,  in  happier  hour, 
O'er  Jordan's  sweeter  wave, 

In  symbol  showed  the  Spirit's  power. 
That  all  the  earth  would  save. 

O  Lord  !   to  this  our  sacred  rite 
Such  gracious  tokens  grant, 

As  make  thy  temples,  where  they  light, 
Thine  Arks  of  Covenant. 

And  still  on  Life's  baptizing  tide. 

Or  Sorrow's  bitter  sea, 
Decending  Peace  be  multiplied. 

And  hallow  hearts  to  Thee  I 


HYMNS.  239 


VIII. 

FOR  THE  ORDINATION  OF  MR.  O.  B.  FROTHINGHAM, 
AS  MINISTER  OF  THE  NORTH  CHURCH  IN  SALEM, 
MARCH    10,    18-17. 

A    PSALM. 

"  The  Lord  gave  the  word  "  ;  't  was  the  word  of 
his  Truth, 
And  the  word  of  Salvation  for  all  men  to  be. 
Then  forth  went  its   preachers,  —  the    aged,   the 
youth. 

And  "  great  was  the  company." 

"  The  Lord  gave  the  word  " ;  it  was  not  as  of  old, 
When  the  Ark  of  his  Strength  to  the   Temple 
was  brought ;      , 
'Mid  the  clanging  of  steel,  and  the  gleaming  of  gold, 
And  spoils  of  a  battle  fought. 


240  HYMNS. 

But  the  Gospel  of  Faith  in  the  Spirit  of  Love 
Is  the  true  "  King  of  Glory  "  the  Church  has  en- 
shrined ; 
And  "  the  chariots  of  God  "  are  the  "  thousands  " 
that  move 

As  angels  to  bless  mankind. 

O  Lord,  give  this  word  its  triumphant  success  I 

Be  its  mercy  and  peace  on  thy  worshippers  here  ! 
And  clothe  thy  young  priest  with  its  righteousness, 
With  its  earnest  joy  and  fear. 


IX. 


FOR    THE    DEDICATION    OP    THE    CHURCH    OF    THE    SAV- 
IOUR,   BOSTON,    NOVEMBER    10,    1847. 

O  Saviour!  whose  immortal  Word 

For  ever  lasts  the  same  ; 
Thy  grace  within  the  walls  afford, 

Here  builded  to  thy  name. 


HYMNS.  241 

No  other  name  is  named  below, 

No  other  sign  unfurled, 
To  lead  our  hope,  or  quell  our  woe. 

Or  sanctify  the  world. 

Here,  many-tongued  thy  truth  be  found, 

And  mind  and  heart  employ ; 
Thy  Law  and  Promise  pour  around 

Their  terror  and  their  joy  ! 

Here  may  thy  saints  new  progress  make  ; 

Thy  loitering  ones  be  sped  ; 
And  here  thy  mourners  comfort  take, 

And  here  thy  poor  be  fed ! 

May  God,  thy  God,  his  Spirit  send,  — 

The  word  is  else  unblest,  — 
And  fill  this  place  from  end  to  end, 

O  Ark  of  strength  and  rest ! 


242  HYMNS. 


FOR   THE   THIRTY-SECOND    ANNUAL    VISITATION    OP   THE 
DIVINITY    SCHOOL    AT    CAMBRIDGE,    JULY    14,    1848. 

"  Pray  ye,  therefore,  the  Lord  of  the  harvest,  that  he  ^yill  send 
forth  laborers." 
"  Ye  shall  receive  power,  after  that  the  Holy  Ghost  is  come  upon 

you." 

We  hear  the  heavenly  voice, 

That  bids  us  forward  move ; 
And  make  its  call  our  choice, 
Our  labor  and  our  love. 
White  fields  demand 
The  reaper's  pains ; 
And  dark-brown  plains 
The  sower's  hand. 

The  sickle  and  the  seed 

Still  own  one  Sovereign  Lord ; 


HYMNS. 

He  gives  the  means  we  need, 
And  we  but  plant  his  word. 
The  laborer's  skill, 
And  sun  and  rain. 
And  store  of  grain, 
Abide  his  will. 

Go  with  us.  Lord,  we  pray  I 
Or  we  are  left  alone,  — 
Poor  wanderers  from  thy  way. 
And  aliens  in  our  own. 
The  humble  heart, 
The  fervid  soul, 
And  faith  all  whole, 
O  God  !  impart. 

Make  this  our  Pentecost,  — 

Our  day  of  tongues  and  fire  ! 

With  gifts  we  need  the  most. 
Our  languid  minds  inspire 


243 


244  HYMNS. 

O  bless  the  hour, 
And  crown  the  end  ! 
The  Spmt  send, 

And  then  the  Power. 


XL 


FOR    THE    FIFTIETH    ANNIVERSARY    OF    THE    BOSTON    FE- 
MALE   ASYLUM,   SEPTEMBER    20,    1850. 

The  grand  Sabbatic  year, 

The  Hebrew  Jubilee, 
With  blast  of  trump  and  shout  of  cheer 

Set  slave  and  debtor  free. 

O  how  the  dispossessed 

Long  languished  for  the  sign  ! 

How  joyed  at  last  to  see  that  best. 
That  fiftieth  cycle  shine  I 


HYMNS.  245 

But  no  such  lingering  ray 

This  charity  awaits  ; 
For  every  year  and  every  day 

It  opens  wide  its  gates. 

It  does  not  loose,  but  hold  ; 

It  says  not,  Go,  —  but,  Come  ; 
And  pens  the  feeblest  in  its  fold, 

And  builds  the  orphan's  home. 

O  thanks  for  fifty  years 

Of  woman's  pity  shown ! 
For  all  it  saved  of  Misery's  tears, 

And  Ruin's  heavier  moan  ! 

Shield  Thou  her  fatherless, 

O  Father  I  we  implore ; 
And  make  her  efforts  strong  to  bless 

For  years  and  ages  more. 


246 


fIVMXS, 


XII. 


FOR  THE  INSTALLATION  OF  REV.  RUFUS  ELLIS  AS  PAS- 
TOR OF  THE  FIRST  CHURCH  OF  CHRIST  IN  BOSTON, 
MAT  4,   1853. 

Eternal  Lord!    to  Thee  the  church 
Where  now  we  praise  and  pray, 

Though  old  to  our  historic  search, 
Is  but  of  yesterday. 

Of  yesterday  is  all  our  race 

To  thine  all-present  sight ; 
Before  thy  Truth  both  Time  and  Place 

Dissolve  in  higher  light. 

Yet  here,  O  Heavenly  Father,  grant 

Thy  special  Presence  down  ! 
Our  fathers'  God,  the  children's  want 

With  chosen  bounties  crown  ! 


HYMNS.  247 

O  deign  to  write  thy  love  and  fear 

Upon  these  humble  walls, 
And  speak  when  sinful  man  shall  hear, 

And  listen  when  he  calls ! 

Train  up  this  flock,  a  church  indeed. 

Unspotted,  unenticed. 
On  thy  dear  Word  of  Life  to  feed. 

And  follow  after  Christ. 

With  light  and  strength,  O  Fount  Divine  ! 

Fill  high  thy  servant's  heart, 
Who  seeks  anew  the  anointing  sign,  — 

The  grace  thou  shalt  impart. 


248  HYMNS. 


XIII. 


COMMUNION   HYMN. 


"  And  he  took  bread,  and  gave  thanks." 

The  Son  of  God  gave  thanks, 
Before  the  bread  he  broke. 

How  high  that  calm  devotion  ranks 
Among  the  words  he  spoke  ! 

Thanks,  'mid  those  troubled  men  ; 

Thanks,  in  that  dismal  hour  ; 
The  world's  dark  prince  advancing  then 

In  all  his  rage  and  power. 

Thanks,  o'er  that  loafs  dread  sign  ; 

Thanks,  o'er  that  bitter  food  ; 
And  o'er  the  cup,  that  was  not  wine, 

But  sorrow,  fear,  and  blood. 


HYMNS.  249 

And  shall  our  griefs  resent 

What  God  appoints  as  best 
When  he,  in  all  things  innocent, 

Was  yet  in  all  distressed  ? 

Shall  we  unthankful  be 

For  all  our  blessings  round, 
When  in  that  press  of  agony 

Such  room  for  thanks  he  found? 

O  shame  us,  Lord!  —  whate'er 

The  fortunes  of  our  days,  — 
If,  suffering,  we  are  weak  to  bear, 

If,  favored,  slow  to  praise. 


250 


HYMNS. 

XIV. 

COMMUNION   HYMN. 

"  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  me." 

"  How  he  was  known  of  them  in  breaking  of  bread." 

"  Remember  me,"  the  Saviour  said, 
On  that  forsaken  night, 

When  from  his  side  the  nearest  fled, 
And  death  was  close  in  sight. 

Through  all  the  following  ages'  track 
The  world  remembers  yet  ; 

With  love  and  worship  gazes  back, 
And  never  can  forget. 

But  who  of  us  has  seen  his  face. 
Or  heard  the  words  he  said  ? 

And  none  can  now  his  look  retrace 
In  breaking  of  the  bread. 


HYMNS.  251 

O  blest  are  they,  who  have  not  seen, 

And  yet  believe  him  still ! 
They  know  him,  when  his  praise  they  mean, 

And  when  they  do  his  will. 

We  hear  his  word  along  our  way  ; 

"We  see  his  light  above ; 
Remember  when  we  strive  and  pray, 

Remember  when  we  love. 


XV. 

FOR    THE    DEDICATION    OF    A    UNITARIAN    CHURCH. 

One  God,  the  Father,  own ; 

Accept  the  Christ  he  gave  ; 
Attend  his  Spirit,  breathing  down, 

To  teach,  console,  and  save. 


252  HYMNS. 

The  Scripture  thus  we  read ; 

And  bless  its  sacred  plan, 
To  mould  thy  heart,  and  train  thy  creed, 

O  wayward  child  of  man  ! 

Its  essence,  not  its  writ, 

Our  guide  and  rale  we  call ; 

Not  fastening  down  all  Truth  to  It, 
But  widening  It  to  all. 

With  this  free  reverence.  Lord, 
In  covenant  church  estate, 

In  faith  and  brotherly  accord, 
This  house  we  dedicate. 

Thy  presence,  Father,  make 

Its  refuge  and  supply  I 
For  Truth  and  for  thy  Mercy's  sake. 

Build  up  and  sanctify. 


HYMNS.  253 

Enlarge  its  sacred  tent, 

Where  earnest  hearts  shall  meet, 
And,  rich  with  gracious  gifts,  be  sent 

The  inspiring  Paraclete. 


FRAGMENTS    AND    MEMORIES 

FROM  THE   EARLY  TIME. 


LINES 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  CASE  OF  A  WATCH,  THE  GIFT  OF 


These  slender  wheels,  by  human  skill  combined, 
But  play  their  hours,  and  then  forget  to  move. 
Not  so  the  motions  of  the  immortal  mind. 
That  runs  in  gratitude  and  beats  with  love. 
No  length  of  days,  no  varied  scenes  of  life. 
Shall  make  me  heedless  of  my  debts  to  thee. 
In  pleasure's  calm,  in  sorrow's  gloomiest  strife, 
I  will  be  mindful,  till  I  cease  to  be. 
Of  all  that  thou  hast  thought  and  Avished  and 
done  for  me. 


TO    A    SIGH. 


255 


TO    A    SIGH. 

I  AM  not  ill,  I  am  not  grieved, 
Pain  has  not  wrung,  nor  hope  deceived ; 
Why,  then,  thou  sad,  unmeaning  guest. 
Disturb  the  comforts  of  my  breast  ? 

Is  it  because  so  slight  a  bound 
'Twixt  joy's  extreme  and  grief  is  found. 
That  tears  so  oft  dim  rapture's  eyes, 
And  bliss  and  anguish  speak  in  sighs  ? 

Meek  child  of  wants,  I  know  thee  now  ; 
A  faithful  monitor  art  thou. 
To  check  Joy's  rash,  impetuous  car. 
And  show  how  vain  her  triumphs  are. 

Then  welcome,  gentle  stranger  !     Still 
Refine  my  pleasures ;  tame  my  will ; 


256  THE    RENUNCIATION 

Teach  my  uplifted  heart  to  flee 
From  what  is  now  to  what  shall  be. 
Thou  dost  but  point  me  to  a  higher  sphere, 
For  what  wise  Heaven  denies  us  now  and  here. 


THE    RENUNCIATION. 

Sweet  visions  of  Fancy,  deceitful  as  fair, 
Though  often  misguiding,  not  cherished  the  less. 
How  oft  have  you  solaced  the  moments  of  care, 
And  diffused  your  bright  beams  o'er  the  gloom  of 
distress  ! 

How  often  has  time  flitted  rapidly  by. 
When  allured  by  your  promise,  or  charmed   by 
your  spell ! 


THE    RENUNCIATION.  257 

How  often,  when  sad,  though  I  could  not  tell  why, 
Have  ye  smiled  that  I  loved  your  illusions  so  well ! 

Such  have  been  my  feelings,  such  has  been  your 

power ; 

Farewell !  and  oh  I  with  you  for  ever  adieu 

All  the   flatteries  that  gilded  my  heart's  dearest 
hour, 

And  the  fervors  that  fancied  those  flatteries  were 

true! 

Farewell !     At  stern  Duty's  command  I  resign 
All  that  once  was  so  fondly,  so  foolishly  dear. 
Farewell !     Though  your  transports  no  longer  are 

mine, 
I  am  freed  from  your  longing,  your  terror,  your 

tear. 

O,  no  more  may  my  spirit  recline  on  your  aid 
Its  sorrows  to  soothe,  or  its  fears  to  disarm  ! 

17 


258 


A    SUMMER    EVENLNG. 


For  the  tints  of  the   rainbows  that  flush  but  to 

fade. 
May  I  look  to  the  white  beams  that  lend  them 

their  charm. 


A    SUMMER    EVENING. 

It  is  a  lovely  eve.      Meek  Twilight  now 
Begins  her  gentle,  but  too  short-lived,  reign. 
The  evening  star  glows  in  her  radiant  brow ; 
The  painted  clouds,  slow  rising  from  the  west, 
Her  robes  of  state  ;   her  golden  sandals  press 
The  verge  of  heaven.     It  is  a  lovely  eve. 
How  different  from  the  morn,  so  lately  seen ! 
Then  all  was  life,  and  joy,  and  melody. 
The  sportive  birds  sang  to  the  rising  dawn, 
And  to  the  quickened  sense  the  perfumed  air 


A    SUMMER   EVENING.  259 

Seemed  doubly  fragrant,  while  the  dewy  grass 
Glittered  like  Fancy's  fairy-work  ;  —  the  sun 
Looked  on  it  longer,  and  the  tints  so  brave 
Like  the  gay  dreams  of  youth  dissolved  in  air. 
Now  all  is  calm  and  still.     No  more  the  groves 
Echo  the  songsters'  cheerful,  various  music. 
Naught  breaks  the  silence  but  the  frog's  rude  croak 
Discordant,  jarring  from  the  distant  pool. 
Yet  say,  is  not  such  contemplative  hour, 
When  all  around  breathes  peace,  more  dear  to  thee 
Than  all  the  transient  splendors  of  the  morn  ? 

But  seel  the  sun,  long  sunk  beneath  the  west, 
Spreads  his  last  glories  o'er  the  evening  cloud. 
How  many  eyes,  that  mark  his  setting  ray, 
Shall  never  see  his  rising!     Even  so. 
Father !  for  so  it  seemeth  good  to  Thee. 
The  longest  day  that  man  must  dwell  on  earth, 
How  short,  how  doubtful !    Yet  in  this  brief  space 
We  toil,  and  strive,  and  sigh,  and  are  content. 


260  TO    ,    BEREFT    OF    REASON. 

The  twilight  now  has  closed  ;  but  all  the  scene 
Of  wonders  is  not  ended.     Crowning  all, 
The  mystic  Night,  with  all  her  train  of  worlds, 
Appears  sublime  in  beauty.     Fancy  now 
Escapes  from  earth,  and  soars  beyond  the  stars. 
Dear  sister,  so  let  our  short  day  be  spent. 
That,  when  our  sun  is  set,  its  parting  beams 
May  shine  on  years  yet  distant ;  and  when  Time 
Has  whelmed  us  in  the  wreck  of  all  that 's  gone, 
Our  rising  may  be  joyous  ! 


TO  ,  BEREFT   OF  EEASON. 

O  LADY !  still  in  Memory's  dream 
Restored  to  all  thou  wast  I  seem. 
And  weep,  each  image  to  redeem 
Of  days  so  fair. 


TO    ,    BEREFT    OF    REASON.  261 

Nor  dare  recall  the  poor,  quenched  beam, 
That  once  shone  there. 

Where  now  that  gem  of  thought  and  feeling, 
The  changeful  light  of  the  soul  revealing, — 
Thy  glance,  —  to  every  heart  appealing  ? 

Its  play  is  o'er ; 
And  that  warm  smile  of  witchery's  stealing 

Will  charm  no  more. 

Let  me  not  think  how  swift  the  day. 
Of  peace  and  rapture  sped  away. 
When  thou  wouldst  listen  to  my  lay. 

And  crown  the  while 
Thine  own  bard  with  his  chosen  bay. 

Affection's  smile. 

That  time  is  past ;  long  hushed  that  strain, 
Which  never  can  be  waked  again ; 
Thou  heed'st  not  now  ;  and  I  in  vain 


262  TO    ,    BEREFT    OF    REASON. 

A  mute  form  deck  ; 
Yet  ever  near  my  heart  remain, 
Thou  lovely  wreck  I 

Long,  vacant  months  'tis  thine  to  know, 
Where  neither  joys  nor  griefs  can  grow ; 
Chilled  is  thy  spirit's  fervid  flow, 

And  hope  is  none. 
O  beam  from  that  blank  waste  of  snow 

Thy  look,  —  but  one! 

The  land  of  light  and  God's  own  grace 
Shall  re-illume  thy  mindless  face. 
No  soul's  eclipse  to  reach  that  place ! 

No  griefs  to  tell ! 
Till  then,  my  hand  can  only  trace. 

Farewell !  Farewell ! 


TO  .  263 


TO 


You  tell  me  I  'm  sad ;  —  that  my  spirit  appears 
As  if  worn  by  the  traces  of  time  and  of  tears  ; 
Though  few  summers  yet  have  flown  over  my  head, 
And  many  and  bright  are  the  blessings  they  shed. 
You  tell  me  I'm  changed  ;  and  that  joy's   sunny 

ray 
Which  once  kindled  within   me   has  quite  sunk 

away  ; 
And  you  ask  if  regret,  or  misfortune,  or  care, 
Has  dimmed  the  gay  sparkles  that  once  sported 

there. 

O,  if  e'er  was  a  spot  on  this  tempest-torn  world. 
Where  no  blight  has  consumed,  and  no  storm-bolt 

been  hurled  ; 
Where  Nature  's  all  smiles,  and  earth  loves  to  en- 
twine 


264  TO . 

Its  best  selfish   pleasures,  —  that  spot  has   been 

mine. 
Ambition  scarce  planned  more  than  effort  achieved, 
And  Hope  always  promising  never  deceived. 
Friends  dear  as  existence  have  ever  stood  round 

me ; 
Success,  that  should  humble  each  vain  thought, 

has  crowned  me  ; 
And  do  not  believe  that  there  throbs  in  this  breast 
A  heart,  that  can  cheerless  and  thankless  be  blest. 
Do  you  ask,  Why,  then,  pensive,  thus  circled  with 

bliss  ? 
Can  you  ask,  in  a  world  frail  and  changing  like 

this? 
Perhaps  there 's  a  charm  in  this  sad  hue  of  thought 
More  pleasing  than  all  that  gay  moments  have 

brought ; 
Or  perhaps   some  high   passion  has  calmed   my 

wild  breast. 
As  the  thunder  at  sea  lulls  the  surges  to  rest. 


TO 


265 


Perhaps,  too  intent  on  the  future,  I  gaze 

O'er  the  dim,  doubtful  forms  of  the  far-distant 
days; 

Or  perhaps  some  new  changes  of  feeling  and  scene 

Call  to  mournful  remembrance  the  days  that  have 
been; 

And  there  crowd  on  the  heart  thoughts  of  long- 
perished  ill. 

And  of  sorrows  that  speak  not,  but  linger  there 
still. 

Or  perhaps  'tis  the  world's  sins  and  follies  I  moan. 

As  I  blame  others'  failings,  and  sigh  for  my  own. 

O,  who  has  not  trembled  at  wrong's  wide-spread 
reign, 

And  blushed  to  have  shared  in  its  woe  and  its 
stain  ? 

Far,  far  be  the  day,  when  thy  young  heart  shall 

know 
Of  affections  pierced  through,  and  of  loved  ones 

brought  low  ; 


266 


TO 


Of  the  weakness,  unkindness,  and  arts  of  man- 
kind, — 

The  deceits  that  allure,  and  the  passions  that 
blind! 

Heaven  long  shield  from  sorrow  that  spirited  brow, 

And  the  world's  trials  leave  you  e'en  purer  than 
now ! 

Full  sweet  are  the  flowers  that  around  you  are 
blowing, 

And  bright  are  the  streams  that  around  you  are 
flowing ; 

But  ill  may  their  brightness  and  sweetness  com- 
pare 

With  the  light-hearted  thoughts  that  go  wander- 
ing there  ; 

And  rich  as  the  view  is  of  tree,  brook,  and  hill. 

Life's  first  opening  prospects  are  lovelier  still. 

Rejoice  in  the  vision  !  nor  think,  merry  maid, 

How  the  flowers  will  droop,  and  the  scenery  fade. 


TO  A.   G.  F. 


AT    SEA. 

I  THOUGHT  of  you  ill  my  lonely  hours, 

While  watching  the  clouds,  the  stars,  the  deep  ; 

Or  tasking  my  mind's  intentest  powers. 

Or  courting  the  visions  of  welcome  sleep. 

I  thought  of  you  when  the  laugh  went  round 

At  the  deck  and  cabin's  boisterous  cheer ; 

No  voice  that  I  loved  was  in  the  sound, 

And  their  foreign  speech  disturbed  my  car. 

I  thought  of  you,  when  the  winds  have  slept, 
And  the  ship  scarce  rocked  on  the  lazy  sea. 


268 


AT    SEA. 


How  heavily  on  the  long  hours  swept 

In  waveless  and  dull  monotony  I 

I  thought  of  youj  when  the  clouds  heaved  dark, 

And  the  furthermost  swell  in  foam  was  curled. 

She  sees  not,  I  said,  our  plunging  bark, 

She  hears  not  the  din  of  this  watery  world. 

I  thought  of  you,  when  the  morn's  young  ray 
Tinged  the  ocean  mists  and  the  ocean  foam  ; 
And  I  prayed  it  might  bring  a  happy  day 
To  the  friends  I  have  left,  and  my  far-off  home. 
I  thought  of  you,  when  the  glorious  sun 
Went  down  behind  the  deep,  round  sea. 
He  had  hours  of  light  yet  left  for  one, 
Who  is  dear  as  his  blessed  beams  to  me. 

My  course  to  other  climes  I  bend  ; 
My  tongue  to  other  accents  frame ; 
My  gaze  to  other  scenes  extend  ; 
But  still  my  heart,  the  same,  the  same, 
Turns  back  to  you. 


A    SUNSET    IN    ITALY. 


269 


A   SUNSET  IN  ITALY. 

Whence  do  the  Spirits  of  the  Air 

Breathe  gentlest,  kindliest? 
When  their  wind-harps  and  balm  they  bear 

From  their  chambers  in  the  West. 

When  glow  the  many-colored  skies 
In  their  richest  beauty  drest  ? 

When  the  sunset  flings  its  gorgeous  dies 
O'er  its  curtains  in  the  West. 

Like  that  soft  air  to  a  weary  brow, 

And  the  throbs  of  an  anxious  breast, 

Come  thoughts  of  the  dear  and  distant  now 
From  the  home  that's  in  the  West. 


270 


A    SUNSET    IN    ITALY, 


Like  those  fair  skies,  where  to  fancy's  sight 

Float  forms  as  of  spirits  blest, 
Seems  the  golden  gleam  of  each  dear  delight, 

That  dwells  there  in  the   West. 

O  land,  of  all  that  bright  orb  gilds 

The  freest,  happiest,  best ! 
Take  me  back  from  the  pomp  of  these  blushing 
fields 

To  thy  proud  shores  in  the   West. 

O  more  than  all,  my  own  loved  one ! 

When  shall  the  wanderer  rest, 
And  watch  with  you  that  sinking  sun 

Far  deeper  down  the  West  ? 


TO  A  CHANGING  FRIEND. 


Thy  leaves  are  rustling  to  my  tread, 

Thou  falling  Year ! 
Once  by  the  showers  and  sunbeams  fed, 

Now  dry  and  sear  ; 
Once  waving  gay  above  my  head, 

Now  scattered  here. 
So  fallen,  and  trampled  on,  and  dead, 

The  joys  appear 
Of  parting  Friendship,  fancy -led, 

But  pure  as  dear. 
To  memory  of  that  dream  all  fled. 

This  tomb  I  rear  ; 


272  TO    A    CHANGING    FRIEND. 

And  o  er  that  page  of  life,  all  read, 

Just  drop  this  tear. 
Farewell !  —  The  bitter  word  I  've  said, 

Nor  wish,  nor  fear. 


11. 


It  is  not  when  the  pulse  is  gone, 

For  ever  closed  the  eye. 
And  breath  in  the  cold  form  is  none, 
Men  die. 

'T  is  when  all  hope  resigns  its  breath,  — 

The  eye  no  help  can  see, — 
The  pulse  beats  downward, — that  seems  death 
To  me. 


TO    A    CHANGING    FRIEND.  273 

So,  when  Affection  shows  decay, 

And  warmth  and  cheer  are  fled, 
The  heart  already  lays  away 
Its  dead. 


III. 


Nay,  break  it  off ;  why  wear  w^e 
The  loosened  tie,  the  same 

As  when  the  soul  was  in  it. 

And  it  was  not  all  a  name? 


It  is  as  if  the  torn  leaves, 
AU  trampled  in  the  wet. 

Should  think  to  climb  their  branches, 
And  make  it  Summer  yet. 

18 


274  TO    A    CHANGING    FRIEND. 

O,  worse  than  sad!  'T  is  mockery, 
That  jeers  us  for  the  past, 

And  flouts  with  hollowest  shadows 
A  joy  too  bright  to  last. 

It  tells  of  foolish  dreaming, 

And  throbs  of  younger  blood  ; 

And  ah  !  how  we  can  ruin 
An  undecaying  good. 

I  never  can  forget  thee  ; 

I  never  will  upbraid  ; 
And  thou,  —  unsay  not  ever 

The  softest  thou  hast  said. 

'T  were  better  far  not  meeting, 

Than  to  meet  in  such  a  mind  ; 

Then  turn  we  from  each  other, 

Ere  cold  thoughts  grow  unkind. 


TO    A    CHANGING    FRIEND.  275 

I  '11  picture  in  my  memory 

Thy  loving  looks  of  yore  ; 
And  bless  thee  as  I  then  did, 

But  see  thee  never  more. 


SCATTERED. 


THE   BURYING-GEOUND  AT  NEW  HAVEN. 

O,  WHERE   are  they  whose  all  that  earth  could 

give 
Beneath  these  senseless  marbles  disappeared  ? 
Where  even  they  who  taught  these  stones  to 

grieve,  — 
The  hands  that   hewed  them,  and  the    hearts 

that  reared  ? 
Such  the   poor  bounds    of  all  that's  hoped  or 

feared 
Within  the  griefs  and  smiles  of  this  short  day. 


THE    BURYING-GROUND    AT    NEW    HAVEN.      277 

Here  sank  the  honored,  vanished  the  endeared. 
This  the  last  tribute  love  to  love  could  pay,  — 
An  idle  pageant-pile  to  graces  passed  away. 

Why  deck  these  sculptured  trophies  of  the  tomb? 
Why,  victims,  garland  thus  the  spoiler's  fane  ? 
Hope  ye  by  these  to  avert  oblivion's  doom, 
In  grief  ambitious,  and  in  ashes  vain  ? 
Go,  rather  bid  the  sand  the  trace  retain 
Of  all  that  parted  Virtue  felt  and  did  ! 
Yet  powerless  man  revolts  from  Ruin's  reign ; 
And  Pride  has  gleamed  upon  the  coffin-lid, 
And  heaped  o'er  human  dust  the  mountain  Pyra- 
mid. 

Sink,  mean  memorials  of  what  cannot  die  ! 
Be  lowly  as  the  relics  you  o'erspread ! 
Nor  lift  your  funeral  forms  so  gorgeously. 
To  tell  who  slumbers  in  each  lowly  bed. 
I  would  not  honor  thus  the  sainted  dead. 


278  IN    AN    ALBUM. 

Nor  to  each  stranger's  careless  eye  declare 
My  sacred  griefs  for  Joy  and  Friendship  fled. 
Noj  let  me  hide  the  names  of  those  that  were, 
Deep  in  my  stricken  heart,  and  shrine  them  only 
there. 


IN  AN   ALBUM. 

As  bright  a  fortune  wait  thee,  Mary, 
As  warms  young  hearts  in  tales  of  faery. 
As  kindles  poet's  sweetest  themes. 
As  blesses  maiden's  dearest  dreams ! 
Some  Genius  of  the  Enchanted  Ring 
All  perils  ward,  all  favors  bring ! 
The  Spirits  of  Earth,  the  Spirits  of  Air, 
And  of  each  kind  influence  gathered  there, 
Be  waiting  about  thee  from  hour  to  hour 


IN    AN   ALBUM.  279 

As  queen  of  some  charm  of  mystical  power, 
To  lay  at  thy  feet  life's  sparkling  treasm'es, 
And  crown  thy  brows  with  its  rosiest  pleasures  ! 

Such  be  the  wish  of  some  idle  line  ! 
A  better  wish  for  thee,  maid,  is  mine. 

May  thine  be  as  much  of  fortune's  share. 

As  thou  'st  worth  to  merit,  and  grace  to  wear, 

And  heart  to  improve,  and  strength  to  bear! 

The  beauty  be  thine  that  lasts  for  aye. 

Though  from  feature  and  form  it  must  pass  away ! 

The  Genius  of  Duty  guard  thy  head, 

When  that  of  Romance  shall  be  weak  or  dead ! 

Good  thoughts  and  thine  own  heart's  purity 

Be  the  Spirits  that  ever  wait  on  thee  ; 

And  for  magical  amulet  or  stone. 

Be  the  trust  that  is  fixed  on  Heaven  alone  ! 


280     Shakespeare's  mulberry-tree. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MULBERRY-TREE. 

'T  IS  sweet  a  deathless  memory 
With  living  things  to  bind  ; 

With  Nature's  humblest  turf  or  tree 
Her  mightiest  Poet's  mind. 

The  plant,  beloved  of  that  poor  worm, 

Whose  little  life  is  spent 
In  weaving  from  its  tender  form 

Its  precious  monument. 

He  loved,  who  other  life  resigned 
To  live  in  what  he  wrought ; 

In  the  rich  web  wrapped  up  and  shrined 
Of  his  own  matchless  thought. 


TO    A    LADY. 


281 


This  tree,  that  from  his  own  took  birth, 
Grows  as  that  grew  before  ;  — 

His  buried  genius  left  on  earth 
No  like  nor  suc'cessor. 


TO    A    LADY, 

WHO  COMPLAINED  THAT  HER  HEART  HAD  LOST  ITS 
YOUTH. 

Time  withers  up  the  fairest  face, 

Throws  tower  and  palace  down, 

Steals  from  the  noblest  form  its  grace. 
And  rusts  out  sword  and  crown ; 

The  tree  is  for  its  rotting  sway, 
The  stone  is  for  its  tooth  ;  — 

But  oh  !  take  back  that  word,  nor  say- 
That  hearts  can  lose  their  youth. 


282 


The  heart  is  of  no  earthly  mould, 

Is  neither  clay  nor  rock  ; 
Nor  snaps  like  steel,  nor  dulls  like  gold, 

Nor  yields  to  wear  or  shock. 
Its  strength  is  in  its  loving  will ; 

Its  life  is  in  its  truth  ; 
Then,  lady,  do  not  tell  me  still. 

Your  heart  has  lost  its  youth. 


THE   HEART'S   DIALOGUE. 

"  There  's  scarce  an  hour  of  any  day 
I  could  not  drop  to  sleep  ; 

There 's  scarce  an  hour,  I  almost  say, 
I  would  not  gladly  weep. 


283 


"  The  laboring  cares  that  strain  the  mind 

Fall  heavy  on  the  eyes, 
And  griefs  that  never  speak  would  find 

Relief  in  more  than  sighs. 

"  This  is  not  sluggishness  that  droops  ; 

These  are  not  passion's  tears  ; 
The  spirit  strives  as  well  as  stoops, 

And  praises  while  it  fears. 

"  No  ;  here  's  the  weary  weight,  —  that  all 

So  empty  seems  to  be  ; 
And  these  pent  drops,  if  shed,  would  fall 

For  others,  not  for  me." 

"  Rouse,  rouse  thy  mind ;  and  every  power 
To  life's  great  service  bring ; 

Cheer,  cheer  thee,  heart !  and  every  hour 
Learn  not  to  pine,  but  sing. 


284  AN    EPITHALAMIUM. 

"  Then  o'er  this  emptiness  of  earth 
Will  God's  own  fulness  stream, 

And  bathe  in  light  of  holiest  birth 
The  sorrow  and  the  dream. 

"  Let  slumber  be  but  gathering  strength, 
And  tears  but  Nature's  debt ; 

So  trouble  shall  be  peace  at  length. 
With  dews  of  glory  wet." 


AN  EPITHALAMIUM. 

NIGHT    OF   JULY    13,   1843. 
To   H.   W.   L. 

Now  is  there  light  in  earth  and  heaven, 
From  tapers  and  from  stars. 

The  first  bright  sign  on  high  is  given 
«  To  the  red  planet  Mars." 


AN    EPITHALAMIUM.  285 

And  Saturn,  falsely  called  of  lead, 
Shoots  from  the  Archer's  bow ; 

With  mystic  ring  and  moons,  is  shed, 
All  round,  his  golden  glow. 

And  lo  !  another  orb  appears. 

That  makes  those  great  ones  least ; 

For  Jove  his  locks  ambrosial  rears 
From  the  religious  East. 

May  each  celestial  influence  blend 

To  bless  this  nuptial  rite ;  — 
E'en  sunny  Hermes  backward  send 

His  smile  upon  the  night ! 

O  brightest  beam !  though  absent  now 

From  that  broad  arch  above. 
Deck,  morn  and  eve,  this  life-long  vow, 

Thou  constant  Star  of  Love  ! 


286     TO  THE  SHADE  OF  ROBERT  HERRICK. 


TO  THE  SHADE  OF  ROBERT  HERRICK. 

Yes,  all  that 's  bright  and  sweet  and  fair 
Soon  finds  its  season  past, 
And  shrinks  and  withers  fast; 

And  we  who  gaze  on  it  the  while 
But  shine  and  bloom  and  smile, 
To  cease  at  last. 

Yet  not  for  this  let  man  despair. 

The  lily  ever  lives 

That  Innocency  gives ; 
And  though  the  glittering  stars  turn  pale, 

No  rays  of  Truth  shall  fail, 
And  Hope  survives. 


A    NATIONAL    ODE.  287 

A  NATIONAL   ODE. 

SUNG    ON    THE   203D  ANNIVERSARY  OF  THE  ANCIENT  AND 
HONORABLE   ARTILLERY   COMPANY,   JUNE    7,    1841. 

Tune,  —  The  Marseillaise. 
Sons  of  the  free,  be  true  to  glory, 

And  be  that  glory  true  —  and  wise  I 
O  heed  your  noble  fathers'  story  ! 

O  see  the  waiting  nations'  eyes  I 
That  story  fires  the  world  already 

With  generous  deeds  for  freedom  done  ; 
Those  eyes  pursue  the  westering  sun, 
To  watch  you  wdth  their  gazes  steady. 
Stand  close,  ye  chosen  line, 
And  vindicate  your  birth  ! 
March  on  I  —  your  bannered  stars  shall  shine 
A  blessing  o'er  the  earth. 

No  spoil  that  's  won  by  fraud  or  plunder 
E'er  swell  the  treasures  of  your  state  I 


288 


A    NATIONAL    ODE. 


No  wars,  with  fratricidal  thunder, 

Storm  out  your  place  among  the  great  I 

Let  master-skill,  and  patient  labor. 

And  Heaven's  own  gifts,  your  store  increase ; 
And  be  the  strength  of  honest  Peace 

For  fiery  shot  and  bloody  sabre. 
Stand  close,  &c. 

Ye  late  were  few,  that  now  are  many ; 

Ye  late  were  weak,  that  now  are  strong ; 
Beyond  the  ridgy  Alleghany, 

From  sea  to  sea  ye  roll  along. 
O  keep  the  brother-bond  for  ever, 

That  knits  your  numbers  into  one ! 

Be  sure  your  praise  is  all  undone. 
Should  jealous  feuds  that  Union  sever. 
Stand  close,  &c. 

Let  Knowledge  wear  her  crown  upon  her ! 

Your  cry  go  forth  :  "  More  light  I  More  light  I " 


r 


A    NATIONAL    ODE.  289 

And  every  spot  that  marks  dishonor 

Fade  off  from  all  your  scutcheons  white  ! 

Through  burning  suns  and  sleety  weather,  — 
Let  weal  or  adverse  fates  befall,  — 
Together  hark  to  God's  great  call, 

And  rise  and  reign,  or  sink,  —  together. 
Stand  close,  &c. 

Set  high  the  throne  of  heavenly  Order  ; 

Revere  the  shield  and  blade  of  Law ;  — 
From  central  point  to  farthest  border 

Beheld  with  love,  obeyed  with  awe. 
Unruly  factions  ne'er  mislead  you ! 

Calm  as  the  angel  Michael  stood, 

Keep  at  your  feet  hell's  ruffian  brood, 
With  right  to  arm,  and  God  to  speed  you ! 

Stand  close,  ye  chosen  line. 
And  vindicate  your  birth  ! 
March  on  I  —  your  bannered  stars  shall  shine 
A  blessing  o'er  the  earth. 

19 


290  DANIEL    WEBSTER. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

WRITTEN    AT    SUNSET,    OCTOBER    22,    1852. 

Sink,  thou  Autumnal  Sun  ! 
The  trees  will  miss  the  radiance  of  thine  eye, 
Clad  in  their  Joseph-coat  of  many  a  dye  ; 
The  clouds  will  miss  thee  in  the  fading  sky  ; 
But  now  in  other  scenes  thy  race  must  run. 

This  day  of  glory  done. 

Sink,  thou  of  nobler  light ! 
The  land  will  mourn  thee  in  its  darkening  hour ; 
Its  heavens  grow  gray  at  thy  retiring  power. 
Thou  shining  orb  of  mind,  thou  beacon-tower  ! 
Be  thy  great  memory  still  a  guardian  might, 

When  thou  art  gone  from  sight. 


ODE.  291 


ODE 

SUNG    AT    THE    DORCHESTER    CELEBRATION    OF 
JULY    4,   1855. 

Old  Dorchester  has  fame  to  wear, 

Won  from  the  days  of  Faith  and  Strife  ;  — 

The  Faith  that  winged  the  Pilgrims'  prayer, 
The  War  that  breathed  a  Nation's  life. 

In  front  she  stood,  when  first  arose 
The  church  upon  the  red  man's  shore ; 

In  front,  to  meet  the  shock  of  foes. 
When  opened  Freedom's  cannon-roar. 

Her  heights  have  felt  the  foot  and  eye 
Of  him  who  led  our  victories  on  ; 

Her  plains  run  seaward,  as  to  vie 
With  some  yet  future  Marathon. 


292  ODE. 

Old  Dorchester  is  glad  to-day  ; 

Her  sacred  bells  ring  feast  and  mirth ; 
Her  gunners'  trains  and  war-array 

But  shoot  their  joy  to  sky  and  earth. 

Old  Dorchester  is  proud  to-day  ! 

Through  her  own  lips  its  trump  is  blown ; 
And  he,*  who  speaks  what  she  would  say, 

By  twofold  title  is  her  own. 

Old  Hundred. 

O  God  of  Faith  and  Armies  !    Now 
Make  pure  our  thanks,  lift  high  our  vow. 
Thy  Spirit  be  thy  people's  might, 
And  valor  guard  their  free  birthright ! 

*  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 


TO    AN    INVALID.  293 


TO  AN  INVALID. 

The  rose  is  on  thy  cheek,  sweet  maid, 

The  lily  on  thy  brow ; 
Though  on  thy  form  the  hurt  is  laid. 

That  keeps  it  bowed  so  low. 

There  's  patience  in  those  gentle  eyes, 
And  courage  in  that  smile  ; 

And  active  thoughts,  not  pining  sighs. 
Are  in  thy  heart  the  while. 

The  learned  page  is  at  thy  side. 

The  pencil  in  thy  hand  ; 
While  round  thee  shapes  of  beauty  glide, 

And  truths  of  reverence  stand. 


294  TO    AN    INVALID. 

Thy  soul  is  with  the  sparkling  spheres, 
And  with  the  flowery  ground  ; 

And  listens  with  attuned  ears 
To  Nature's  wealth  of  sound. 

The  voices  of  a  various  lore 
Thy  studious  spirit  teach  ; 

They  come  from  many  a  distant  shore, 
In  many  a  foreign  speech. 

But  most  to  thee  that  blessed  book 

Of  Pentecostal  flame ; 
Kindling  to  tongues  as  still  we  look. 

In  every  speech  the  same. 

I  love  thee  for  thy  cultured  mind. 
Thy  temper  firm  and  mild ; 

More  for  the  ingenuous  heart  I  find 
Of  honor  undefiled. 


STRENGTH.  295 

Might  I  but  aid  thy  languid  strength, 

And  guide  thy  suffering  way, 
Till  pain  and  weakness  drop  at  length, 

And  shadows  melt  in  day  ! 


STRENGTH. 

TO    A    FRIEND    NEAR    DEATH. 

"  When  I  am  weak,  I  'm  strong," 
The  great  Apostle  cried. 
The  strength,  that  did  not  to  the  earth  belong. 
The  might  of  Heaven  supplied. 

"  When  I  am  weak,  I  'm  strong  "  ;  — 
Blind  Milton  caught  that  strain. 
And  flung  its  victory  o'er  the  ills  that  throng 
Round  Age,  and  Want,  and  Pain. 


296  STRENGTH. 

"  When  I  am  weak,  I  'm  strong," 
Each  Christian  heart  repeats  ; 
These  words  will  tune  its  feeblest  breath  to  song, 
And  fire  its  languid  beats. 

"  When  I  am  weak,  I  'm  strong  "  ;  — 
That  saying  is  for  you. 
Dear  friend,  and  well  it  may  become  your  tongue, 
Whose  soul  has  found  it  true. 

O  Holy  Strength !  whose  ground 
Is  in  the  heavenly  land  ; 
And  whose  supporting  help  alone  is  found 
In  God's  immortal  hand. 

O  blessed !  that  appears 

When  fleshly  aids  are  spent ; 
And  girds  the  mind,  when  most  it  faints  and  fears. 
With  trust  and  sweet  content. 


STRENGTH.  297 

It  bids  us  cast  aside 

All  thoughts  of  lesser  powers  ; 
Give  up  all  hopes  from  changing  time  and  tide, 
And  all  vain  will  of  ours. 

We  have  but  to  confess 

That  there  's  but  one  retreat ; 
And  meekly  lay  each  need  and  each  distress 
Down  at  the  Sovereign  Feet ;  — 

Then,  then  it  fills  the  place 
Of  all  we  hoped  to  do  ; 
And  sunken  Nature  triumphs  in  the  Grace 
That  bears  us  up  and  through. 

A  better  glow  than  health 

Flushes  the  cheek  and  brow ; 
The  heart  is  stout  with  store  of  nameless  wealth ; — 
We  can  do  all  things  now. 


298  IN    A    FUNERAL    ALBUM. 

No  less  sufficience  seek ; 

All  counsel  less  is  wrong ; 
The  whole  world's  force  is  poor,  and  mean,  and 
weak  ;  — 
"  "When  I  am  weak,  I  'm  strong." 


IN  A   FUNERAL   ALBUIVL 

The  parents'  hearts  in  anguish  bade  farewell. 
How  well  she  fares,  an  angel's  tongue  shall  tell, 
Far  from  the  reach  of  every  funeral  knell, 
In  that  blest  time  rung  in  with  heavenly  bell. 
In  that  blest  land  where  beauteous  spirits  dwell. 


A   DEPARTURE.  299 

A  DEPARTURE. 

"  Weep  not ;  she  is  not  dead." 

No  I  call  it  not  to  die,  to  pass  away 
Thus,  and  to  be  translated ;  —  every  power 
Of  mind  and  spirit  kept  till  life's  last  breath  ; 
No  pain  to  rack  the  frame  ;  no  weak  regret 
Or  anxious  doubt  to  cloud  the  parting  soul ; 
Peace  in  the  heart,  and  hope  upon  the  brow,  — 
Ay,  more  than  hope,  —  faith  changing  into  vision, 
As  this  bright  world,  with  all  its  bloom  upon  it, 
Was  opening  upward  into  views  of  heaven. 
This  is  not  death,  but  ceasing  to  be  mortal. 
It  may  remind  us  of  those  old  departures. 
Those  exoduses,  told  in  Holy  Writ, 
Which  that  word  "  dead "   was  not  allowed  to 

darken. 
"  And  Enoch  walked  with  God ;  and  he  was  not. 
For  God  had  taken  him."  —  "  And  he  was  not," — 


300  A   DEPARTURE. 

Not  on  the  earth,  where  he  had  walked  so  long,  • 
As  many  years  as  each  year  shines  in  days,  — 
But  lost  to  human  eyesight ;  disappearing 
Within  the  splendor  where  he  walks  for  ever. 

When  Israel's  prophet,  he  that  was  its  chariot 
And  horsemen,  felt  that  his  last  hour  was  come,- 
His  last  below,  —  a  fiery  car  and  steeds 
Of  fire  his  fervid  spirit  snatched  away. 
It  was  not  so  with  her.     No  troubled  sky, 
No  shapes  of  terrible  beauty,  broke  the  calm, 
That  blest  her  sweet  translation  from  the  world. 
O  mourn  not  for  her !     Mourn  but  for  the  dead,  • 
The  dead  in  sins,  the  dead  in  hopelessness. 
She  has  but  just  put  on  her  incorruption. 


TO  THE  OLD  FAMILY  CLOCK.        301 


TO   THE   OLD   FAMILY   CLOCK, 

SET    UP    IN    A    NEW    PLACE. 

Old  things  are  come  to  honor.     Well  they  might, 

If  old  like  thee,  thou  reverend  monitor ! 

So  gravely  bright,  so  simply  decorated, 

Thy  gold  but  faded  into  softer  beauty, 

While  click  and  hammer-stroke  are  just  the  same 

As  when  my  cradle  heard  them.     Thou  hold'st  on, 

Unwearied,  unremitting,  constant  ever  ; 

The  time  that  thou  dost  measure  leaves  no  mark 

Of  age  or  sorrow  on  thy  gleaming  face  ; 

The  pulses  of  thy  heart  were  never  stronger ; 

And  thy  voice  rings  as  clear  as  when  it  told  me 

How  slowly  crept  the  impatient  days  of  childhood. 

More  than  a  hundred  years  of  joys  and  troubles 

Have  passed  and  listened  to  thee,  while  thy  tongue 

Still  told  in  its  one  round  the  unvaried  tale  ;  — 


302         TO  THE  OLD  FAMILY  CLOCK. 

The  same  to  thee,  to  them  how  different, 
As  fears,  regrets,  or  wishes  gave  it  tone  ! 

My  mother's  childish  wonder  gazed  as  mine  did 
On  the  raised  figures  of  thy  slender  door  ;  ■ — 
The  men  —  or  dames  —  Chinese,  grotesquely  hu- 
man ; 
The  antlered  stag  beneath  its  small,  round  win- 
dow ; 
The  birds  above,  of  scarce  less  size  than  he  ; 
The  doubtful  house  ;  the  tree  unknown  to  nature. 

I  see  thee  not  in  the  old-fashioned  room. 
That  first  received  thee  from  the  mother-land  ; 
But  yet  thou  mind'st  me  of  those  ancient  times 
Of  homely  duties  and  of  plain  delights. 
Whose  love,  and  mirth,  and  sadness  sat  before 

thee,  — 
Their  laugh  and  sigh  both  over  now,  their  voices 
Sunk  and  forgotten,  and  their  forms  but  dust. 


TO    A    DEAD    TREE. 


303 


Thou,  for  their  sake,  stand  honored  ^^erc  awhile, — 
Honored  wherever  standing,  —  ne'er  to  leave 
The  house  that  calls  me  master.     When  there 's 

none  such, 
I  thus  bequeath  thee,  as  in  trust,  to  those 
Who  shall  bear  up  my  name. 

For  each  that  hears 
The  music  of  thy  bell,  strike  on  the  hours,  — 
Duties  between,  and  Heaven's  great  hope  beyond 

them. 


TO   A  DEAD  TREE, 

WITH    A    VINE    TRAINED    OVER    IT. 

The  dead  tree  bears ;  each  dried-up  bough 

With  leaves  is  overgrown, 
And  wears  a  living  drapery  now 

Of  verdure  not  its  own. 


304  TO    A    DEAD    TREE. 

The  worthless  stock  a  use  has  found, 
The  unsightly  branch  a  grace, 

As,  climbing  first,  then  dropped  around. 
The  green  shoots  interlace. 

So  round  that  Grecian  mystic  rod 
To  Hermes'  hand  assigned,  — 

The  emblem  of  a  helping  god,  — 

First  leaves,  then  serpents,  twined. 

In  thee  a  holier  sign  I  view 

Than  in  Hebrew  rods  of  power  ; 

Whether  they  to  a  serpent  grew, 
Or  budded  into  flower. 

This  vine,  but  for  thy  mournful  prop, 
Would  ne'er  have  learned  the  way 

Thy  ruined  height  to  overtop. 
And  mantle  thy  decay. 


TO    A    DEAD    TREE.  305 

O  thou,  my  Soul,  thus  train  thy  thought 

By  Sorrow's  barren  aid ! 
Deck  with  the  charms  that  Faith  has  brought 

The  blights  that  Time  has  made. 

On  all  that  is  remediless 

Still  hang  thy  gentle  veils  ; 
And  make  thy  charities  a  dress, 

Where  other  foliage  fails. 

The  sharp,  bare  points  of  mortal  lot 

With  kindly  growths  o'erspread  ;  — 

Some  blessing  on  what  pleases  not. 
Some  life  on  what  is  dead. 


20 


306  THE    FOUR    HALCYON    POINTS 


THE    FOUR    HALCYON    POINTS    OF    THE 
YEAR. 

Four  points  divide  the  skies, 
Traced  by  the  Augur's  staff  in  days  of  old  : 
"  The  spongy  South,"  —  the  hard  North,  gleaming 
cold,  — 

And  where  days  set  and  rise. 

Four  seasons  span  the  Year : 
The    flowering    Spring,    the   Summer's    ripening 

glow. 
Autumn  with  sheaves,  and  Winter  in  its  snow;  — 

Each  brings  its  separate  cheer. 

Four  Halcyon  periods  part 
With  gentle  touch  each  season  into  twain. 
Spreading  o'er  all  in  turn  their  gentle  reign. 

O  mark  them  well,  my  heart ! 


OF    THE    YEAR. 


307 


Janus  !  the  first  is  thine. 
After  the  freezing  Solstice  locks  the  ground, — 
When  the  keen  blasts  that  moan  or  rave  around 

Show  not  one  softening  sign, — 

It  interposes  then. 
The  air  relents  ;  the  ices  thaw  to  streams  ; 
A  mimic  Spring  shines  down  with  hazy  beams, 

Ere  Winter  roars  again. 

Look  thrice  four  weeks  from  this. 
The  vernal  days  are  rough  in  our  stern  clime ; 
Yet  fickle  April  wins  a  mellow  time, 

Which  chilly  May  shall  miss. 

Another  term  is  run. 
She  comes  again,  the  peaceful  one,  though  less 
Or  needed  or  perceived  in  Summer  dress,  — 

Half  lost  in  the  bright  Sun. 


308  THE    FOUR    HALCYON    POINTS 

Yet  then  a  place  she  finds, 
And  all  beneath  the  sultry  calm  lies  hush,  — 
Till  o'er  the  chafed  and  darkening  Ocean  rush 

The  squally  August  winds. 

Behold  her  yet  once  more. 
And  O  how  beautiful !    Late  in  the  wane 
Of  the  dishevelled  Year,  when  hill  and  plain 

Have  yielded  all  their  store,  — 

When  the  leaves,  thin  and  pale. 
And  they  not  many,  tremble  on  the  bough. 
Or,  noisy  in  their  crisp  decay,  e'en  now 

Roll  to  the  sharpening  gale,  — 

In  smoky  lustre  clad. 
Its  warm  breath  flowing  in  a  parting  hymn. 
The  "  Indian  Summer  "  upon  Winter's  rim 

Looks  on  us  sweetly  sad. 


OF    THE    YEAR.  309 

So  with  the  year  of  Life. 
An  Ordering  Goodness  helps  its  youth  and  age, 
Posts  quiet  sentries  midway  every  stage, 

And  gives  it  truce  in  strife. 

The  Heavenly  Providence, 
With  varying  methods  but  a  steady  hold, 
Doth  trials  still  with  mercies  interfold. 

For  human  soul  and  sense. 

The  Father  that 's  above 
Remits,  assuages  ;  still  abating  one 
Of  all  the  stripes  due  to  the  ill  that 's  done. 

In  his  compassionate  love. 

Help  Thou  our  wayward  mind 
To  own  Thee  constantly  in  all  our  states,  — 
The  world  of  Nature  and  the  world  of  Fates,  — 

Forbearing,  tempering,  kind. 


310     THE  MoLEAN  ASYLUM,  SOMERVILLE. 


THE  McLEAN  ASYLUM,   SOMERVILLE. 

O  House  of  Sorrows  !     How  thy  domes 

Swell  on  the  sight,  but  crowd  the  heart ; 
While  pensive  Fancy  walks  thy  rooms, 
And  shrinking  Memory  minds  me  what  thou  art ! 

A  rich,  gay  mansion  once  wert  thou  ; 

And  he  who  built  it  chose  its  site 
On  that  hill's  proud,  but  gentle  brow. 
For  an  abode  of  splendor  and  delight. 

Years,  pains,  and  cost  have  reared  it  high. 

The  stately  pile  we  now  survey. 
Grander  than  ever  to  the  eye ;  — 
But  all  its  fireside  pleasures,  —  where  are  they  ? 


THE    MCLEAN    ASYLUM,    SOMERVILLE.  311 

A  stranger  might  suppose  the  spot 

Some  seat  of  learning,  shrine  of  thought ;  — 
Ah !  here  alone  Mind  ripens  not. 
And  nothing  reasons,  nothing  can  be  taught. 

Or  he  might  deem  thee  a  retreat 

For  the  poor  body's  need  and  ail ; 
When  sudden  injuries  stab  and  beat, 
Or  in  slow  waste  its  inward  forces  fail. 

Ah,  heavier  hurts  and  wastes  are  here ! 

The  ruling  brain  distempered  lies. 
When  Mind  flies  reeling  from  its  sphere, 
Life,  health,  ay,  mirth  itself,  are  mockeries. 

O  House  of  Sorrows  I  sorest  shocks 

That  can  our  frame  or  lot  befall 
Are  hid  behind  thy  jealous  locks ; 
Man's  Thought  an  infant,  and  his  Will  a  thrall. 


312        THE  Mclean  asylum,  somerville. 

The  mental,  moral,  bodily  parts, 

So  nicely  separate,  strangely  blent, 
Fly  on  each  other  in  mad  starts. 
Or  sink  together,  wildered  all  and  spent. 

The  sick  —  but  with  fantastic  dreams  ! 
The  sick — but  from  their  uncontrol! 
Poor,  poor  humanity  !     What  themes 
Of  grief  and  wonder  for  the  musing  soul ! 

Friends  have  I  seen  from  free,  bright  life 

Into  thy  dull  confinement  cast ; 
And  some,  through  many  a  weeping  strife. 
Brought  to  that  last  resort,  —  the  last,  the  last. 

O  House  of  Mercy !    Refuge  kind 

For  nature's  most  unnatural  state  ! 
Place  for  the  absent,  wandering  mind  ! 
Its  healing  helper  and  its  sheltering  gate  I 


THE    McLEAN    ASYLUM,    SOMERVILLE.  313 

What  woes  did  man's  own  cruel  fear 

Once  add  to  his  crazed  brother's  doom  ! 
Neglect,  aversion,  tones  severe. 
The  chain,  the  lash,  the  fetid,  living  tomb. 

And  now  behold  what  different  hands 

He  lays  on  that  crazed  brother's  head. 
See  how  this  builded  bounty  stands. 
With  scenes  of  beauty  all  around  it  spread. 

Yes,  Love  has  planned  thee.  Love  endowed. 

And  blessings  on  each  pitying  heart, 
That  from  the  first  its  gifts  bestowed, 
Or  bears  in  thee  each  day  its  patient  part  ! 

Was  e'er  the  Christ  diviner  seen. 

Than  when  the  wretch  no  force  could  bind, 
The  roving,  raving  Gadarene, 
Sat  at  his  blessed  feet,  and  in  his  perfect  mind  ? 


314  TO    ELSIE. 


TO    ELSIE. 

I. 

Nothing  was  there,  save  one  fair  tree, 

In  Summer's  glory  drest  ; 
I  plucked  a  leaf,  for  thought  of  thee. 

And  hid  it  in  my  breast. 

And  now  its  mates  are  changed  and  gone. 
Nipped  by  the  Autumn's  chill, 

Drooping  and  dropping  one  by  one,  — 
But  this  is  verdant  still ; 

And  will  remain,  in  hue  and  form. 

As  I  behold  it  now. 
Let  sultry  gale  or  freezing  storm 

Disturb  the  parent  bough. 


TO    ELSIE.  315 

So  when  the  blooming  charms  depart, 
Which  Joy's  brief  season  gives, 

Unchanging,  in  the  silent  heart, 
A  severed  memory  lives. 


11. 


A  MALADY  too  dread  to  name 

In  one  I  've  held  so  dear ! 
The  sharp  thrills  shooting  through  thy  frame 

Are  deadly  darts,  we  fear. 

Yet  do  not  think  thy  suffering  state 
Too  different  from  our  own  ; 

The  dark  seeds  of  a  certain  fate 
In  all  our  flesh  are  sown. 

Of  any  two,  who  dares  to  say 

Which  shall  the  first  be  gone  ? 


316  TO    ELSIE. 

If  best,  years  distant  or  to-day, 
Who  knows  of  any  one  ? 

Then  cease  to  guess  of  times,  dear  friend. 
Or  how  their  lot  may  fall  ; 

One  gracious  Hand  ordains  the  end 
So  doubtful  for  us  all. 

Live  in  that  dateless,  deathless  part. 

Which  keeps  its  health  and  youth ; 

The  Eternal  in  man's  loving  heart, 
And  in  God's  holy  truth. 


III. 


Dead,  dead  and  gone  ! 
Thou  too  hast  joined  the  train 
Of  those  I  ne'er  shall  see  again  ; 

The  world  is  growing  lone. 


TO    ELSIE. 

They  fall  how  fast! 
Mates  of  my  fresher  prime, 
Associates  of  my  waning  time, 

The  passing  and  the  past. 

O  "  tale  that 's  told  "  I 
How  many  feebly  stay ! 
How  many  went  but  yesterday  ! 

What  griefs  already  old  ! 

New  sorrow  now ! 
Fair  friend,  through  many  a  year 
Of  spirits  light  and  feelings  dear. 

Thou  must  desert  me,  —  thou  I 

And  not  one  word 
To  mark  the  closing  Scene, 
After  such  meetings  as  have  been  ? 

Speak,  —  or  let  me  be  heard. 


317 


318  A    MEDITATION. 

Come  back !     Once  more 
Thy  slender  hand  be  set 
In  mine.     One  prayer  together  yet 

We  '11  breathe,  ere  all  is  o'er. 

Meek  shade,  forgive  ! 
I  would  not  have  thee  back, 
Stretched  out  again  on  this  world's  rack. 

Go  forth,  go  forth,  to  live. 


A    MEDITATION. 

Too  far  from  thee,  O  Lord ! 
The  world  is  close  upon  each  captured  sense ; 
The  heart's  dear  idols  never  vanish  hence ; 
Life's  care  and  labor  still  are  pressing  nigh  ; 


A    MEDITATION.  319 

Its  fates  and  passions  hard  about  me  lie  ;  — 
But  Thou  art  dim  behind  thine  infinite  sky, 
O  distantly  adored  I 

O  Lord,  too  far  from  thee  ! 
Unwinged  Time  stands  ever  in  my  sight, 
Flooding  the  Past  and  Now  with  gloom  and  light ; 
Silent,  but  busy,  constant  at  my  side. 
It  shreds  away  strength,  beauty,  joy,  and  pride. 
Eternal !  why  am  I  from  Thee  so  wide. 

Nor  thy  near  Presence  see  ? 

Ne'er  languished  for  as  now. 
Now  that  the  hold  of  Earth  feels  poor  and  frail, — 
Now  that  the  cheek  of  Hope  looks  thin  and  pale. 
And  forms  of  buried  love  rise  ghostly  round. 
And    dark    thoughts    struggle    on    o'er     broken 

ground,  — 
Where  is  thy  face,  O  Father !  radiant  found 
With  mercy  on  the  brow  ? 


320  THE    AUTUMNAL    EQUINOX. 

I  know  that  not  from  far, 
Not  from  abroad,  this  presence  is  revealed,  — 
To  our  will  denied,  and  from  our  wit  concealed. 
No  search  can  find  Thee,  no  entreaty  bring, — 
Reason  a  weak.  Desert  a  spotted  thing. 
O  Spirit,  lift  me  on  thy  dove-like  wing 

To  realms  that  last  and  Are  I 


THE   AUTUMNAL   EQUINOX. 

Room  for  King  Autumn  !     Room  ! 
Summer,  the  wanton  queen,  has  run  to  doom. 

And  died.     "With  warlike  din, 
The  rude  but  bounteous  conqueror  marches  in. 

See  how  his  banners  fly, 
The  gonfalons  of  cloud  and  stain-streaked  sky. 

Hark  to  his  pipe  and  drum  ! 
On  the  fierce  blast  their  stormy  clangors  come ; 


THE    AUTUMNAL    EQUINOX.  321 

They  whistle  and  they  beat 
O'er  the  wide  ocean,  through  the  narrow  street ; 

While  to  their  terrible  call 
The  surges  mount,  and  tree  and  turret  fall. 

His  cannon  on  the  air 
Flashes  and  roars.     It  is  his  sign  I     Room  there ! 

Now  he  is  sitting  crowned  ; 
And  golden  sunsets  beam  his  brows  around, 

And  ruddy  noontide  hours 
Warm  up  the  thin  leaves  of  his  mottled  bowers. 

At  night  the  moon's  pale  face 
Rises  before  its  time,  to  do  him  grace. 

Now  plenteous  fruits  —  not  such 
As  those  before  them,  mouldering  soon  from  touch, 

But  hardy,  ripening  still 
For  use  long  hence  — the  patient  garners  fill. 

O  equinoctial  time. 
Whose  days  are  southing  towards  the  frosty  clime 


322  THE*  AUTUMNAL    EQUINOX. 

Of  this  strange  life  !     In  raids 
Of  storm  and  wrath  at  first  thy  power  invades ; 

And  at  the  ominous  gale 
Which  Nature  shakes  at,  a  poor  heart  may  quail. 

New  King,  be  good  to  me  I 
Let  me  thy  mellow  favors  round  me  see. 

And  something  laid  in  store, 
When  leaves  have  dropped  and  flowers  will  bloom 
no  more. 

And  take  not  clean  away 
The  genial  glows  that  warmed  a  longer  day. 

Hunters'  and  Harvest  moon. 
Loath  to  desert,  and  coming  up  so  soon. 

Be  emblems  to  my  mind 
Of  love,  that  when  most  needed  shows  most  kind ; 

And  aU  that  crimson  West 
Breathe  of  pavilioned  hopes  and  no  ignoble  rest. 


ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO.  323 


ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO. 

Now  blest  be  the  lightning  that  shivered  thy  bark, 
Strong  swimmer  through  surges  and  destinies  dark  ! 
Here,  free  from  all  woes,  —  toil  and  sea-storm  and 

fight,— 

This  isle  of  the  blest  yields  thee  peace  and  delight. 
Not  a  lovelier  land  do  the  ocean  streams  lave. 
With  the  lip  of  its  shore  to  the  breast  of  the  wave. 
Isle  of  fragrance  and  fruitage,  of  fountain  and  grot. 
Where  the  strifes  you  've  escaped  from  may  all  be 

forgot ; 
Where   ambrosia  the  food,  and  pure  nectar  the 

bowl, 
Are  the  least  of  the  dainties  that  ravish  the  soul. 
What  the  songs  of  its  sky,  and  the  blooms  of  its 

scene, 


324  ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO. 

To  the  graces  of  Kymphs  with  a  Goddess  for 
queen, 

When  her  beauty  divine  does  not  shun  to  impart 

Every  charm  for  the  senses,  and  heart  for  thy  heart, 

Breathing  round  thee  that  joy  every  rapture 
above, — 

That  heaven  of  the  spirit,  —  the  magic  of  love  ? 

And  more  —  O  how  much  I  —  she  will  raise  thee 
to  be 

The  peer  of  her  nature,  immortal  as  she  ; 

No  creeping  of  age  o'er  thy  limbs  or  thy  brow, 

But  for  ever  as  strong  and  as  ardent  as  now. 

Odysseus  the  wanderer,  repose  thee  at  last ! 

Odysseus  the  mortal,  here  fix  thy  life  fast! 

Odysseus,  thou  schemer !  here  's  more  to  thy  hand 

Than  a  man  ever  reached,  t)ian  thy  thought  ever 
spanned. 

O  chief  much-enduring!  thy  labors  now  stay; 

And  Odysseus  the  wise !  show  thou  art  so  to- 
day. 


ODYSSEUS    AND    CALYPSO. 


825 


Such  once  my  thoughts,  when  through  the   pic- 
tured page 
Of  the  great  poet-fabulist  my  eye 
Followed  the  fates  of  heroes  ;  — chiefly  his 
Whose  mythic  story  fills  the  Odyssey. 
Short-sighted  judgment!     He  the  Ithacan, 
So  crowned  by  Nature  and  so  tossed  by  Fortune, 
Assisted  and  pursued  by  Powers  Divine, 
Inventive,  bold,  loving,  and  eloquent, 
The  child  of  tears  and  fire,  set  forth  to  war 
With  chances  various  as  his  moods  and  gifts. 
Is  but  the  emblem  of  the  spirit  and  lot 
Revealed  within  our  frail  humanity. 
Stand  forth,  ye  shapes  of  Memory  and  of  Faith, 
And  show  how  humanly  Odysseus  chose;  — 
Scorning  to  be  immortal;  ease  and  pleasure 
Storming  aside  ;  and,  passion  against  passion. 
Leaving  a  Goddess,  but  to  grow  "  divine." 
I  listen  for  your  voices. 


326  ODYSSEUS    AND    CALYPSO. 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    CURIOSITY: 

"  O  who  can  bear  a  changeless  state  ? 
Joy  is  not  joy,  however  great, 
That  travels  still  its  former  round, 
And  seeks  but  what  's  already  found. 
What  boots  it  to  repeat — repeat  — 
What  cloys  the  more,  so  rich  and  sweet  ? 
Harped  to  one  note,  what  ear  or  brain 
But  aches  with  the  unvaried  strain  ? 
The  New,  the  Further,  stirs  the  thought ; 
And  all  before  or  seen  or  taught. 
With  naught  to  come,  itself  is  naught. 
Who  would  for  ages  tamely  lie 
In  ignorance  and  monotony  ? 
What!  shall  this  islet's  narrow  close 
Bound  all  that  sage  Odysseus  knows. 
And  one  sequestered,  shady  nook 
Veil  the  whole  world  from  his  keen  look  ? 
Rouse,  rouse  thy  well-experienced  mind. 
Longer  to  seek  and  more  to  find." 


ODYSSEUS    AND    CALYPSO.  327 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    ACTION  : 

"  O  noble  son  of  Laertes,  the  versatile,  wily  Odys- 
seus I 

Warrior  of  many  fields,  and  lord  of  a  thousand 
devices, 

Outreaching  Circe,  fair  witch,  and  the  cannibal 
giant,  the  Round-Eye ! 

Where  now  those  charms  of  speech,  that  bowed 
whole  armies  to  hear  thee  ? 

Where  thy  rank  in  the  council-hall,  thy  praise  in 
the  roll  of  achievement, 

The  stealthy  delight  of  the  ambush,  the  rapturous 
rage  of  the  onset. 

And  all  the  stirring  of  heart  that  gladdens  a  prince 
and  a  leader  ? 

What  is  more  wearying  to  man  than  sloth  and  a 
passive  indulgence  ? 

The  life  of  his  life  is  pursuit,  and  the  cheer  of  suc- 
cesses ; 


328  ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO. 

And  even  the  gods  themselves  can  crown  but  de- 
sert and  endeavor. 

Remember  thy  bow  where  it  hangs,  and  that  only 
thy  sinews  can  bend  it ; 

Remember,  that  purpose  and  deed  and  spirit  alone 
are  enduring. 

Once  more  o'er  the  wine-dark  sea,  to  thyself  and 
thy  work  and  thy  glory." 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    CONSCIENCE  *. 

"  In  vain  we  seek  for  rest 
In  couch  and  sports  and  cheer ; 
There  cries  a  voice  within  the  breast : 
'  Art  thou  obedient  here  ? ' 

"  The  Duty  that  we  owe, 
Yet  fear  or  hate  to  meet, 
Will  dash  with  gall  and  secret  woe 

The  draught  we  deem  most  sweet. 


ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO.  329 

"  The  Duty  we  perform, 
Though  hard,  if  bravely  done, 
Will  pour  a  light  through  thickest  storm 
More  blessed  than  the  sun. 

"  Revere  the  soul  within  ; 
Revere  the  gods  on  high ; 
Nor  dream  a  precious  prize  to  win 
By  a  disloyalty. 

"  Odysseus  !  foremost  name 
In  Grecian  tale  and  song  ; 
Can  you  retreat  from  all  that  fame. 
To  sluggishness  and  wrong? 

«  What  guard  is  for  thy  hall  ? 
What  counsel  for  thy  child  ? 
And  who  will  keep  thy  subjects  all 
From  foes  and  factions  wild  ? 


330  ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO. 

"  Shame,  —  thus  in  ease  to  bask, 
And  wanton,  and  depend  ! 
Up !  to  achieve  a  true  man's  task, 
And  reach  a  true  man's  end." 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    LONGING. 

On  the  lone  shore  Odysseus  sits,  —  his  eyes, 

Strained  on  the  wide  sea  and  the  wider  skies. 

Filling  with  tears ;  —  his  own  land  that  way  lies. 

The  years  long  past,  before  the  sail  for  Troy, 

Roll  o'er  his  heart,  and  bury  all  its  joy  ; 

His  first  ambitions  and  his  pastimes  young,  — 

His  dogs  and  boar-spear  the  wild  rocks  among,  — 

His  friends  so  many  on  that  natal  shore, 

Some  looking  for  him  back,  some  seen  themselves 

no  more,  — 
His  sire,  if  age  and  trouble  spare  him  yet,  — 
These  rise  around,  in  vivid  pictures  set; 
Yet  fade  before  the  thoughts,  that  thronging  come, 


ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO.  331 

Of  his  true  wedded  one  at  home,  at  home ; 
And  of  the  princely  boy  to  manhood  grown, 
Heir  of  his  father's  fame,  to  win  his  own. 
Then  the  home-longing  pang  distracts  his  heart, 
And  from  his  lips  these  words  impatient  start  :  — 

"  The  bright  sky  is  pale, 
And  the  pure  air  is  thick. 
And  my  strong  powers  fail 
As  they  grow  fancy-sick. 

"  My  brain  madly  floats 
Between  yearning  and  fear, 
And  saddens  and  dotes  ;  — 
I  'm  a  prisoner  here. 

"  This  rest  is  no  ease  ; 
These  delights  are  but  pain 
Again  for  the  seas  I 
For  my  hearthstone  again  ! 


832  ODYSSEUS  AND  CALYPSO. 

"  The  pleasures  are  lone 
These  immortals  supply ;  — 
Away  for  My  Own, 
And  behold  them  or  die  I" 


TRIFLINGS 


SONG, 

I         SUNG    AT    THE    OPENING    OF  THE  "  TREMONT  HOUSE," 
OCTOBER    16,    1829. 

Air,  —  "  Tlie  Moon  's  on  the  Lake.^* 

Good  cheer  has  a  good  special  blessing  upon  't ;  — 
Then  hail  to  you,  House  of  the  Stranger,  Tre- 


Your  proud,  ample  walls  hearty  welcome  bespeak 
In  the  plain  English  tongue,  though  your  porch  is 
all  Greek. 
Then  halloo !  halloo !  halloo  ! 
Its  stones  and   its  bread  we   have   piled  up  for 
others. 


334  SONG. 

To   the    ends    of  the   land   our  compatriots  and 

brothers. 
Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  gather,  gather, 

gather ! 
Till  our  granite  flows  down  like  the  tide  of  a  river, 
Our  Fathers'  '•  Trea-mountain  "  shall  flourish  for 

ever. 

Come,  come,  from  the  lands  of  the  warm,  sunny 

South, 
From   the    Cumberland's   foot   and   the    Edisto'y 

mouth  I 
Come,  come,  from  the  prairies  and  streams  of  the 

West! 
For  the  worst  that  we  give  is  enough  of  the  best. 

Then  halloo  !  halloo  I  halloo  ! 
There  is  room  for  us  all  'neath  our  Eagle's  broad 

pinion  ; 
Young  Maine  may  pledge  healths  with  "  the  An- 
cient Dominion." 


SONG.  335 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 
Till  our  granite  flows  down  like  the  tide  of  a  river. 
Our  Fathers'  "  Trea-mountain  "  shall  flourish  for 
ever. 

Come    on,   from    the    peak   of    our   easternmost 

rock, — 
Androscoggin,  and  Schoodic,  and  Sagadahoc  ! 
Come  on,  from  the  North  where  the  Winter  "  burns 

frore," 
From  Memphremagog's  ice  and  Niagara's  roar  I 

Then  halloo!  halloo!  halloo  ! 
Let  the  mountains  bow  round,  from  the  ''  White  " 

to  the  "  Rocky," 
And   Missouri  kiss  waves  w^ith    sweet  Winnipi- 

seogee. 
Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 
Till  our  granite  flows  down  like  the  tide  of  a  river, 
Our  Fathers'  "  Trea-mountain  "  shall  flourish  for 

ever. 


336  RESTORATION    OF    THE 


LINES 


ON    THE    RESTORATION    OF    THE    FEDERAL    STREET 
THEATRE. 

The  Federal  Street  Theatre,  after  having  been  put  to 
several  uses,  was  restored  to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  originally 
built,  and  resumed  its  performances  on  the  evening  of  August  27, 
1846.  The  following  lines  were  written,  as  if  for  the  Address  on 
that  occasion ;  though  not  offered  for  recitation  or  prize. 


O'er   life's    quick   scenes    not  many  years    have 

flown. 
Since  wondering  nations  hailed  "  the  Great  Un- 
known." 
A  world's  fond  wishes  could  not  keep  him  long, 
That  king  of  fiction  and  that  child  of  song  ; 
He  shrunk  to  dust  who  swayed  our  hearts  at  will. 
And  Dryburgh's  Ruin  shrined  a  nobler  still. 


FEDERAL  STREET  THEATRE.         337 

But  leave  that  broken  spell  and  its  lost  lord ;  — 
Look  round  to-night;  —  here  see  the  Great  Re- 
stored ;  — 
Restored  to  that  old  form  we  held  so  dear, 
To  healthful  laugh  and  purifying  tear, 
To  scenic  art,  the  Drama's  acted  page, 
And  all  the  guiltless  witchcraft  of  the  Stage^  — 
Restored  to  many  a  Memory's  crowding  host,  — 
Restored  to  every  Muse  it  sadly  lost. 
Hail,  the  returning  Spirit  of  the  place, 
Banished  so  long!     Hail,  each  recovered  grace! 
Hail,  renewed  spot !     In  thee  the  oldest  here 
Call  back  the  figures  of  life's  magic  year. 
When  all  seemed  real  in  this  mimic  show. 
And  all  beamed  wondrous  in  young  Fancy's  glow; 
When  ear  and  sight  with  strange  delights  were  fed, 
As  these  scant  boards  to  spacious  regions  spread; 
When  men  looked  giants  by  the  painted  trees,* 

*  This  illusion  was  very  strong  upon  my  boyi&h  eyes,  at  their 
first  sight  of  a  play.    The  persons  who  stood  at  the  side  of  the  stage 
22 


838  RESTORATION    OF    THE 

And  Mirth  and  Terror  strove  which  most  could 

please. 
How  the  heart  fluttered  at  the  prompter's  bell ! 
What  visions  faded  when  the  curtain  fell ! 
Not  all  the  forms  the  "  Wizard  of  the  North  " 
In  light  and  beauty  ever  summoned  forth 
So  live  and  move  before  the  thought,  as  those 
That  spoke  embodied  as  that  curtain  rose. 
These  rounding  seats  a  whole  charmed  circle  grew ; 
That  line  of  foot-lights  bounded  worlds  all  new. 

But  think  what  changes  here  have  held  their  sway, 
Since  all  those  tricksy  Powers  were  forced  away. 
Scarce  were  they  banished,  when  a  rabble  throng 
Of  scoffing  spirits  gloomed  these  walls  along. 


in  a  garden-scene  appeared  colossal,  hut  diminished  as  they  ap- 
proached the  centre  of  the  boards.  This  optical  marvel  was  never 
perfectly  repeated,  being  unconsciously  corrected  by  observation. 
The  philosophical  solution  of  it,  however,  was  not  suggested  till  long 
afterwards. 


FEDERAL  STREET  THEATRE.         339 

Not  fallen  from  Heaven, —  for  they  were   never 

there ; — 
Their  law  low  pleasure,  and  their  creed  despair.* 
No  graceful  ticket  gave  the  entrance  then  ;  — 
'T  was  "  largest  liberty's  "  most  noisome  den. 
No  "  Hats  off!  "  rang  the  sullen  ranks  between  ;  — 
What  was  respected  ?     What  was  to  be  seen  ? 
The  audience  dingy,  far  as  eye  could  reach,  — 
A  gray-haired  atheist  spectacle  and  speech. 
Was  it  for  this,  ye  foemen  of  our  art, 
Who  think  there  's  but  one  way  to  touch  the  heart, 
And  that  your  own,  —  was  it  for  this  ye  beat 
The  genial  Sisters  from  their  ancient  seat. 
Turning  this  intellectual,  brilliant  dome 
To  stupid  Blasphemy's  disordered  home  ? 
Was    this    your   "  Players'    Lash,"    ye    modern 

Prynnes,t  — 

*  The  deserted  Theatre  fell  first  into  the  hands  of  Abner  Knee- 
land  and  his  followers, 
t  Poor  William  Prynne's ''  Histrio-Mastix  "  was  published  in  1632. 


t}40  RESTORATION    OF    THE 

To  scourge  enjoyments,  while  you  beckoned  sins  ? 
Was  this  your  preference  'twixt  the  Outs  and  Ins  ? 

But  lo !  another  change,  like  Stockwell's  own ! 
The  Den  has  vanished,  and  a  Church  is  shown.* 
More  reverence  than  befits  us  here  to  tell, 
We  yield  to  courts  where  sacred  honors  dwell. 
But  have  not  they  their  places  ?     Have  not  we  ? 
Has  not  each  liberal  province  leave  to  be  ? 
Not  every  building  for  one  use  is  raised, 
Nor  any  use  is  singly  to  be  praised. 
All  School,  Inn,  Hospital,  were  dull  indeed  ; 
Our  honest  Playhouse  but  for  life  would  plead. 

But  whence  the  name  Odeon  ?     Here  we  track 
Another  change,  in  these  our  fortunes,  back. 
O  Music,  charming  though  no  word  be  sung ! 


=^  The  religious  society  here  gathered  built  afterwards  the  "  Cen- 
tral Church  "  in  Winter  Street,  under  the  pastoral  care  of  the  la- 
mented William  M.  Rogers. 


FEDERAL  STREET  THEATRE.         341 

What  stringed  expression  !     What  an  air-shaped 

tongue ! 
Far  be  from  us  the  jealous  heart,  to  slight 
The  listening  transport  of  each  tuneful  night  I 
And  yet  the  Academy's  most  skilful  powers 
In  scope  and  number  surely  yield  to  ours. 
Here  all  the  Aonian  maids  their  gifts  combine ;  — 
And  who  will  say  that  One  was  worth  the  Nine  ? 

Another  metamorphosis  recall 
To  Memory  ranging  round  this  scenic  hall. 
As  if  the  last  Muse  left  had  met  her  doom,  — 
Euterpe  gone,  —  behold  a  Lecture-Room. 
A  sober  uniformity  bears  rule, 
While  old  and  wise  here  gravely  come  to  school. 
Now,  deepest  Learning  highest  truths  imparts  ; 
Now  Genius,  Eloquence,  entrance  all  hearts. 
But  where  the  various  splendor  that  here  blazed  ? 
The  various  interest  that  here  breathless  gazed  ? 
The  stage  was  but  a  chair ;  the  scene  became 
An  illustration,  or  a  diagram. 


342 


RESTORATION    OF    THE 


The  whole  machinery  presented  then 
A  planetarium,  or  a  specimen. 
No  fictions  clad  in  colored  glories  shone, 
But  all  was  real  as  a  fossil  bone. 
Star-eyed  Urania  spoke  in  broadcloth  suit ; 
Unlaurelled  Clio  walked  without  her  lute. 
Solid  Philosophies  their  facts  display, 
As  sixty  patient  minutes  grant  delay  ; 
Or  mystic  thought  ideal  pictures  draws, 
While  transcendental  bonnets  nod  applause. 

Enough  of  this.     We  own,  as  own  we  must, 
These  walls  were  honored  by  a  use  so  just ; 
And,  while  they  stand  to  win  new  rights  to  fame, 
Rejoice  to  have  been  allied  to  Lowell's  name.* 

Restored  I  Restored  !  Well  known  so  long  a  time. 
These  buried  glories  rise  as  in  their  prime. 


*The  celebrated  Lowell  Lectures  were  inaugurated  here, 
December  31,  1839,  with  an  Address  by  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 


FEDERAL  STREET  THEATRE.         343 

Our  tastes  may  change,  as  fickle  fashions  fly, 

But  Art  is  safe  ;  the  Drama  cannot  die. 

More    than   restored !     Whate'er   the    pen   since 

wrought 
Of   loftiest,   sprightliest,   here    that    wealth    has 

brought. 
Whate'er  the  progress  of  the  age  has  lent 
Of  purer  taste  and  comelier  ornament, — 
To  this  our  temple  it  transfers  its  store, 
And  makes  each  point  shine  lovelier  than  before. 

But  more  yet,  —  and  how  much  !     We  claim  a 
praise 
The  Playhouse  knew  not  in  the  ancient  days. 
Own  us,  ye  hearts  with  moral  purpose  warm  I 
Our  word  Renewal  adds  the  word  Reform. 
Too  long  the  Drama's  garments  have  been  stained 
By  vices  not  her  own.     Accused,  arraigned. 
Condemned,  she  hopeless  stood.    Her  fate  has  been 
To  allow,  and  suffer  for,  a  foreign  sin. 


344  RESTORATION    OF    THE 

Not  all  unjust.     For  foul  abuses  cleaved 

Fast  to  her  skirts ;  though  never  unperceived, 

Never  washed  out ;  —  and  thus  a  blame  she  bears 

Which  nothing  in  her  nature  needs  or  shares. 

We  have  effaced  this  blot ;  nor  more  endure 

In  Gallery  or  Saloon  the  vicious  lure. 

No  cups  of  sparkling  ruin  gleam  below ; 

No  frail  disgraces  fill  an  upper  row. 

All  bad  alUances  we  safely  spurn, 

And  scorn  the  favor  we  must  basely  earn. 

To  purest  service  of  our  Art  we  now 

Its  long-dismantled  Temple  freshly  vow, 

And  to  its  cause  the  proudest  works  devote. 

That  ever  Taste  contrived  or  Genius  wrote. 

Come  each,  and  help  us  I     Be  our  Drama's  friend! 

Some  it  instructs,  and  none  it  need  offend. 

Hearts  are  improved  by  Feeling's  play  and  strife ; 

Refined  amusement  humanizes  life. 

So  wrote  the  Sages,  whom  the  world  admired ; 

So  sang  the  Poets,  who  the  world  inspired  ; 


FEDERAL  STREET  THEATRE.         345 

Why  in  New  England's  Athens  is  decried 
What  old  Athenian  culture  thought  its  pride  ? 

Again  we  bid  our  Thespian  ensigns  fly  ; 
Teach  through  the  emotions,  lecture  to  the  eye ; 
Again  to  Nature  hold  the  mirror  up ; 
Again  our  emblems,  —  dagger,  mask,  and  cup  ! 
Act  we,  and  not  recite,  that  bard  sublime, 
I     Who  "  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time." 

Come, friends  of  Virtue !    Share  the  feast  we  spread. 
It  loads  no  spirits,  and  it  heats  no  head ; 
But  rouses  forth  each  power  of  mind  and  soul 
With  food  ambrosial  and  its  fairy  bowl. 
Your  "  masters  of  the  revels  "  we  appear. 
And  greet  you.     Give  us  back  one  hearty  cheer. 
The  Roman  actors,  when  the  play  was  done. 
Cried  out.  Applaud!  Then  first  their  prize  was  won. 
Reward  our  greater  boldness,  friends  !  for  we 
Make  our  commencement  with  our  "  Plaudite!  " 


346  A   WINTER    SOLILOQUY, 


A  WINTER   SOLILOQUY. 


Will  Summer  ever  come  again  ? 

Will  Winter  ever  pass  ? 
Shall  we  have  for  frost  the  soft,  warm  rain, 

And  for  ice  the  fresh,  green  grass  ? 

Will  the  trees  put  on  their  glossy  gear  ? 

Will  the  birds  take  up  their  song, 
And  new-born  shapes  of  life  and  cheer 

Glance  merrily  along  ? 

Shall  I  bare  my  brow  for  the  air's  cool  wreath  ? 

Shall  I  see  the  dust  whirled  round? 
And  inhale,  for  my  nostril's  frozen  breath. 

The  scents  of  the  fragrant  ground  ? 


A    WINTER    SOLILOQUY.  347 

Shall  I  see  again  the  sky's  blue  cope, 
With  bright  clouds  floating  in  't  ? 

And  oh !  shall  I  see  a  window  ope, 
Excepting  in  a  print  ? 

Shall  we  walk  again  "  in  silk  attire," 

Nor  fear  for  slipping  down  ; 
And,  instead  of  the  snow's  cold  glare,  admire 

The  gleam  of  a  snow-white  gown  ? 

Will  cloaks  drop  off  from  shoulders  fair, 

And  hoods  from  faces  blue. 
And  delicate  feet  disdain  to  wear 

The  India-rubber  shoe  ? 

Shall  boots  and  moccasons  give  place, 

And  muffling  monsters  all. 
And  Beauty  show  in  the  street  its  grace. 

As  in  private  bovver  and  hall  ? 


348  A   WINTER    SOLILOQUY. 

Yes  !  I  hear  the  March-like  winds  arise ; 

The  Spring  will  soon  be  here, 
And  birds,  and  flowers,  and  painted  skies 

Make  glad  the  warming  year. 

But  here  my  prophet  gifts  forsake. 
Nor  Fashion's  freaks  explore. 

The  cloak  may  still  no  difference  make 
'T  wixt  Fourteen  and  Fourscore  ;  — 

The  belle  may  show  her  trousers  still, 
And  boots  may  ne'er  lay  by. 

And  drag  her  unpronounceable 
Caou  —  Caoutchoucs  in  July. 

February  14,  1832. 


XENIA. 


This  Greek  word  has  found  its  way  into  the  English  Dictionary. 
It  meant  originally  the  presents  that  were  made  by  a  host  to  his  de- 
parting guests  :  but  afterwards,  through  various  transitive  meanings, 
came  to  denote  gifts  in  general.  Epigrammatic  inscriptions  for 
articles  thus  bestowed  form  a  department,  though  a  very  humble 
one,  of  Latin  literature.  The  word  has  been  adopted  by  the  French 
and  Germans  ;  the  former  using  it  most  in  the  sense  of  new-year's 
gifts. 


WITH  A  MOSAIC  BUTTERFLY. 

Disjointed,  party-colored  things 
Here  meet  to  form  one  whole, 

And  lo  !  an  emblem  spreads  its  wings  ;  — 
'T  is  Psyche  !     'T  is  the  Soul ! 


350 


WITH    A    MOSAIC    TABLE. 

So  time  and  life,  O  sister  mine ! 

A  checkered  ground  inlay  ; 
But  wait  till  all  the  tints  combine  ;  — 

'T  is  Form,  't  is  Hope,  't  is  Day. 


WITH  A  MOSAIC   TABLE. 

A  TABLE  here  from  Italy; — the  land 
"Which,  though  a  foreign  one,  by  you  untrod, 
You  love  to  think  of,  and  I  often  see 
In  well-remembered  beauty  rising  clear. 
No  present  seems  more  fit  for  you ;  so  pure 
Its  solid  substance,  —  marble  to  the  foot, — 
Graceful  but  fixed,  in  sculptured  symmetry. 
Its  firm-set  base  and  its  consistent  stem 
Seem  like  the  strong  and  beautiful  principles 


WITH    A    WATCH.  351 

That  bear  you  up  and  yet  are  parts  of  you ; 
While  the  rich  crowd  of  many-colored  stones, 
Harmonious  though  unlike,  remind  my  heart 
Of  all  the  various  treasures  that  inlay 
The  polished  round  of  woman's  excellence. 


WITH   A   WATCH. 

This  cunning  instrument  has  power 
To  trace  the  march  of  every  hour, 

And  tell  it  to  the  eye. 
It  counts  the  minutes  in  their  flow. 
As,  gliding  swift  or  loitering  slow. 

They  one  by  one  pass  by. 

Its  name,  a  Watch,  denotes  the  care 
Its  use  demands  of  those  who  wear; 
It  must  not  fall,  nor  stop. 


352  WITH   A   WATCH. 

Much  more  it  warns  us,  not  a  day- 
Should  fly  in  giddiness  away, 
Or  into  voidness  drop. 

A  gift,  then,  with  a  meaning,  here 
Begins  with  you  another  year  ;  — 

This  blessing  with  it  take  : 
Beyond  all  dates  and  wastes  of  Time, 
May  goodness  keep  you  in  your  prime, 
And  in  your  life's  most  wintry  clime 

A  vernal  beauty  make  I 


WITH    A    FLOWERED    FAN.  353 


WITH   A   FLOWERED   FAN, 

WHICH    SPEAKS  : 

A  SIMPLE  gift  for  homely  wear, 

By  your  wearing,  grace  ; 
And  softest  breath  of  sweetest  air 

Ever  fan  your  face  ! 

The  sunny  skies  that  warmly  glow 

Ask  my  fluttering  aid  ; 
While  brightest  flowers  around  you  blow. 

Blooming  but  to  fade. 

The  skies  will  back  to  chillness  creep, 

Summer  signs  be  past ; 
But  my  sign  its  warmth  will  keep,  — 

My  poor  flowers  will  last. 

23 


354        WITH  A  GOLD  PEN  IN  IVORY. 


WITH  A  PAIR  OF  SPECTACLES. 

The  glass  set  in  gold 

May  soon  break  from  its  hold, 

But  the  gold  no  such  accident  fears ; 
And  so  our  frail  senses 
Are  like  these  brittle  lenses, 

But  the  heart  keeps  the  same  all  the  years. 


WITH   A   GOLD   PEN  IN  IVORY. 

In  Solomon's  throne, 

They  tell  us,  shone 
"  The  ivory  and  the  gold." 
But  all  that  pomp  and  pride 
No  solid  use  supplied. 


WITH  A  GOLD  PEN  IN  IVORY.        355 

Ere  he  who  sat  there  died. 


"  All 's  vanity,"  he  cried  ;  — 
They,  like  himself,  were  bought  and  sold. 

These  substances  — 

The  sanne  as  his. 
Though  cast  in  such  small  mould  — 
Are  here  not  set  for  show^ 
But  faithful  service  owe  ; 
And  almost  seem  to  know 
What  help  they  will  bestow 
In  telling  what  were  else  untold. 

And  so,  dear,  when 

This  strong,  pure  pen 
Your  fingers  shall  infold, 
May  words,  like  pure  and  strong, 
Pour  from  its  point  along, 
A  free  and  blithesome  throng,  — 
No  thought  or  word  writ  wrong,  — 
And  friends  with  friends  glad  converse  hold. 


356  WITH    A    COPY    OF    "  VANITY    FAIR." 


WITH   A   COPY   OF   "VANITY   FAIR." 

Here  is  "  Vanity  Fair  " ; 

And  well  may  you  stare 
At  a  title  so  strange  and  so  new, 

In  whose  heart  lurks  no  vanity 

Or  pretending  inanity, 
And  the  selfish  and  false  never  grew. 

Does  not  famed  Mr.  Thackeray 

Of  the  best  wisdom  lack  a  ray, 
When  he  writes  down  the  world  as  untrue 

And  to  women  above  all 

Pays  but  cynic  approval,  — 
All  silly,  or  vicious,  or  blue  ? 

With  his  "  insight  "  an  outer. 

And  his  spirit  a  flouter. 
And  a  sinister  twist  in  his  view,  — 


WITH    AN    OPERA-GLASS.  357 

Ah  I  he  would  not  have  painted 
Folks  so  hollow  and  tainted, 
Had  he  once  been  acquainted 
With  Y0U» 


WITH  AN  OPERA-GLASS. 

An  Opera- Glass 
May  seem  hardly  to  pass, 
Since  so  seldom  you  go 
To  a  great  public  show. 
But  when  you  retreat 
To  your  nice  country-seat. 
It  may  still  find  its  uses, 
If  your  ladyship  chooses. 

23  <♦ 


358  WITH    AN    OPERA-GLASS. 

Sitting  on  your  piazza, 
You  will  find  that  it  has  a 
Fine  gift,  to  bring  nigh 
What  would  else  miss  your  eye. 
Distant  houses  and  trees 
Will  come  close  as  you  please, 
And  the  faint  line  of  road 
Will  show  clear  and  grow  broad. 

Nay,  much  farther  yet 

It  will  help  you  to  get, 

And  not  even  at  night 

Give  its  power  up  quite. 

The  moon's  edge  and  face 

More  plain  it  will  trace  ; 

The  disk  of  a  planet,  — 

Why,  you  almost  might  span  it ; 

And  e'en  the  fixed  star 

Seems  a  little  less  far. 


WITH  A  MOSAIC  "  FORGET  ME  NOT."    359 

Take  this  for  its  say, 
On  this  New  Year's  Day : 
"  Let  all  objects  agreeable 
Grow  large  and  more  seeable. 
View  those  that  offend 
Through  my  opposite  end  ; 
That,  if  looked  at  at  all, 
They  may  look  — very  small." 

So  surveyed  be  Life's  whole 
Through  the  tubes  of  the  soul ! 


AVITH  A  MOSAIC  "FORGET  ME  NOT.' 

Accept  and  wear  this  constant  flower, 

Thus  copied  out  by  art. 
It  blooms  in  Nature  but  its  hour,  — 

For  ever  in  the  heart. 


360  WITH    A    BIBLE,    ON    A    WEDDING-DAY. 

Affections  into  habits  grown,  — 
Lives  fastened  in  one  lot,  — 

The  flower  has  strengthened  into  stone 
We  name  "  Forget  me  not." 


WITH  A  BIBLE,   ON  A   WEDDING-DAY. 

A  BETTER  love  than  mine 
This  Holy  Volume  gives  ; 
It  shows  no  shadow  of  decline, 
And  when  I  die  it  lives. 

A  love  that 's  constant  still 
To  teach  and  cheer  you  through ; 
That  never  frowns,  "  I  may  not  will," 
Nor  sighs,  "  I  cannot  do." 


WITH    A    BIBLE,    ON    A    WEDDING-DAY.  361 

This  Book  binds  man  and  v/ife 
In  closer  loves  and  fears  ; 
And  all  the  ties  that  bless  our  life 
It  hallows  and  endears. 

Its  blessing  rest  to-day 

Upon  your  plighted  troth  ; 

A  blessing  that  shall  always  stay, 

And  grow  upon  you  both  I 


362 


TO    H.    E.    S. 


TO    H.  E.   S. 


IN   RETURN   FOR   A  NACKE  LETTER-FOLDER,   AND    SOME   BEAUTIFUL 
LINES  OF  REMEMBRANCE. 


With  rainbowed  pearl  and  sun-like  phrase 
You  call  to  mind  the  past;  — 

Such  tokens  o'er  the  present  days 
A  humid  lustre  cast. 


THE    END. 


V 

f 


COKKECTION. 

The  second  line  of  Schiller's  "  Festival  of  Eleusis  "  should  read 
the  same  as  in  the  repeat  at  the  end  of  the  poem.  The  flower  al- 
luded to  is  called  the  Com-Flower  probably  on  account  of  its  fre- 
quent growth  among  the  wheat. 


I 


'3^ 


Is 


